Eden
by ILoveFishyCrackers
Summary: A girl turns herself into the Clave,claiming to be Valentine's experiment-and Jonathan's fiancee!As the Clave begins to investigate,there is proof that Jonathan is still alive and in NYC.What happens when an angel-girl falls in love with a demon? J.M/OC!
1. Chapter 1: Eve

I'D LIKE TO THANK DOLPHIN231 AND ETHANA FOR SUPPORTING ME WITH THIS STORY AND BEING THE BEST FRIENDS A GIRL COULD ASK FOR!

P.S. This chapter is just the intro... but I promise the action will speed up in Chapter 2!

**DISCLAIMER! I DON'T OWN THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS (EXCEPT FOR EVE!) POST CoG!**

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Eden

Outside the Hunter's Moon, rain was thundering down in blackish sheets to the concrete below. Hester Street was already flooded with oily rivers of rainwater; rainwater that caught glinting diamonds of light as it ran down the alley. Buildings had cast their menacing shadows over the cracked pavement, and the air was damp and thick, like an icy sauna.

Inside the bar, Freaky Pete glanced out of the little window beside him and into the impenetrable night. The window itself was streaked by a torrent of water, distorting the view to outside, but he knew that the crescent moon was hidden behind the dark, churning clouds and he could almost taste the electricity of coming lightning in the air. The lousy weather, he guessed, was what had brought so many customers into his bar that night. It had been awhile since the place had been so full of people. Almost every chair or barstool was taken, and even more people stood by the counter or the doorway talking with their drinks in hand. A few faces he recognized- Bat, Maia, Amabel- they were regulars, but most weres here were foreign to him; from an unfamiliar pack, he assumed.

Grabbing a dishtowel off the counter, he began to dry the waiting stack of glasses beside him. A sudden blaze of light filled the room, followed by a roaring clap of thunder that seemed to shake the windowpanes. _Lightning_, Pete thought with a frown, but the raging storm was impressive, even by his standards. New York hadn't had weather like this for years; and the rain kept _coming_… He'd just put the dry glass back on its rack when he heard the sound of the door opening and something sharp and fierce tensed inside him. He wouldn't have called it a sixth sense- not really. The feeling was more like a sort of animal intuition that came with being a lycanthrope; the kind of animal intuition that told him when something was wrong. He instinctively looked over the counter, towards the door, and quickly realized that he wasn't the only one watching and waiting. Every head was turned toward the now-open door, and eerie silence fell about the room as a shadowy figure stepped into the bar.

It was a girl.

At first he thought she was a vampire- what with her pale skin and dark clothes- but as she walked closer to him and the bar, he saw the telltale gooseflesh on her arms and legs, and he knew that she couldn't have been one of the Night Children. After all, the Night Children didn't feel the cold. She had the grace of a vampire, though, Pete noticed. She cut through the staring group of lycanthropes as if they had all the substance of a shadow; and something about the dignity of her movements had made everyone slide out of her way, creating a path for her to the bar.

The second thing he became aware of was how wet she was. Her long, blonde curls had been dampened to a rich gold by the rain and the dripping tendrils stuck to her face and shoulders. Her short black dress was sopping wet, making it cling to the contours of her body and stick uncomfortably to her legs, and on her feet was a pair of plain leather boots that were lovingly worn with use. A simple drawstring satchel was slung across her shoulder and in her arms she carried a mass of drenched, blood-red fabric that might have been her cloak. Pete could see why she wasn't wearing it; it was too wet to be of any use to her anyway.

In a single, fluid movement, she sat herself down on a barstool across the counter from him; her clear blue eyes studying his face with a calculated interest. She was young, he observed, not possibly older than nineteen, but there was something captivating in her sky-blue eyes that spoke of wisdom and cunning far beyond her years. Even apart from those eyes, though, she was as enchanting as the peals of white-hot lighting outside.

He put the glass he was holding down on the counter and gave the girl a friendly nod. "What can I get for you," he asked.

She smiled, as if the idea of having a drink at a bar amused her. "Thank-you," she began. "- But I really can't stay for long. I'm here looking for someone in the area and I was hoping that you could help me find him."

There was an audible groan of chairs as everyone in the bar leaned in to catch more of the conversation. Pete rolled his eyes. "I might be able to lend a hand… Who's the guy you're looking for?"

There was another creak of chairs as all the males in the room leaned in even closer until their chairs wobbled on two legs. Pete could read their expressions easily enough; they all looked like a bunch of love-sick puppies. _Please be me_, their eyes said. _Pleasebeme, pleasebeme, pleasebe_-

"I'm looking for a Mr. Lucian Greymark," she said. Pete watched as all of the chair-legs in the room fell back to the ground with a thud. She looked up at him through thick, silvery lashes, with a soft smile touching her lips. "Do you know who he is?"

His expression darkened with suspicion. "Yeah, I know Luke. What business do you have with him?"

The girl seemed to read his face like an open book. She laughed, and the sound it made was as lovely and clear as the chiming of bells. "Peaceful business, I can assure you," she chuckled. "Yes, I swear on the Angel that my business with Lucian will do him no harm."

_-On the Angel?_ Freaky Pete gave her a searching look. The skin on her bare arms and legs was glowing and pale, but flawless- without so much as a Mark or a scar to be seen anywhere. If she truly _was_ a Shadowhunter, like she claimed, she had some serious issues considering she was still un-Marked. He frowned. "Then you won't mind telling me what you want with him, little Shadowhunter, if you really don't mean him any trouble."

Sighing, she cast him a weary glance. "- And if I do," she said. "You'll contact him for me?"

"I can have him here in less than 30 minutes if I know I'm not putting him in danger."

She set her jaw. "And you give me your word?"

"Yes."

After a ragged exhalation of breath, she licked her chapped lips and nodded. "Alright," she murmured. "If you need to know so badly, it's because of Lucian's high connections to the Clave that I want him. I need him to do me a favor."

"What kind of favor?"

She swallowed. "I want to turn myself into the Clave." There were a few snickers from the crowd of eavesdroppers.

"Turn yourself in- for what?" He eyed her closely, but despite the haughty tilt to her chin he couldn't picture her as a criminal; especially not the type of criminal that the Clave would be worried about. She looked too fragile and innocent, like something made of pure silver and gold. "What crime could you have possibly committed?"

"Treason," she cut in, her voice detached and cold. "- Negligence if nothing else…"

"But why would you _want_ to be turned in? Why not just-"

"Run like a coward?" Her voice was as pointed and sharp as a dagger, but there was raw agony burning in her ice-blue eyes like an unhealed wound. "I've been 'running' for months now and trust me; it's not as tempting of an alternative as you would think." She glanced at him, her expression dismal and blank. "There. I told you. Will you help me or not?"

Pete ran his fingers nervously through his shock of hair; something about turning in this girl felt wrong. "- And you're sure you want to do this? The Clave isn't something to just mess with…"

"Yes," she answered, dropping her empty gaze on the edge of the counter. "Yes, I know."

He cussed under his breath before reluctantly pulling his cell-phone out of his jeans' pocket. "Alright," said Pete stiffly. "I'll make the call."

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How'd you like the beginning so far? :)... tell me what you think by** REVIEWING!**** Oh, and l****ike I said before, the next chapter will be much more interesting...**

P.S. Thanks so much for reading! I can't wait to get to the part about Jonathan- 0.0 oooopss... Did I spoil something?...


	2. Chapter 2: An Unlikely Villain

**Hey! Sorry I didn't update for so long... My computer was stolen for quite some time... (How suspicious...) At least Ethana and dolphin231 won't chase me with knives when I get to school tomorrow now... :0... Anyway, here you go. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments or any of the characters in this story except for Eve...*sigh* Broken dreams...**

**P.S: Happy Valentines Day! (A.K.A- Excuse to Kill a Downworlder Day!... ) ... Enjoy reading!..)**

**P.S.S: I tried to divide the POV's with something _other _than a huge line, but nothing else worked so...**

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Chapter 2:

Luke swung up to the curb in his old pickup truck and slammed his foot onto the brake. It had been close to 9 o' clock when he got the call from Freaky Pete, and after that it had taken him less than twenty minutes to reach the Hunter's Moon in the New York traffic. What Freaky Pete had said on the phone sounded vague and brief, nothing more than a few sentences about a Shadowhunter at the Moon looking for him, but Luke knew Pete well enough to understand that something bad was happening. Pete wouldn't have called him unless it was urgent.

Heaving the truck door open, Luke slid out of the cab, into the pouring rain, and within moments, he was drenched. His flannel shirt clung to his skin and his hair plastered to his forehead like dark brown seaweed. Through squinted eyes, he looked up into the black sky and the torrential downpour of rain. The clouds seemed to have no end; sprawling as far as the eye could see in every direction… He shook his head absently before making his way to the door of the Moon.

When he shoved the door open, he'd expected, well, someone impressive-looking waiting for him; a Shadowhunter decked out in their midnight-colored gear, or one of the Silent Brothers in their pale, noiseless glory. Instead, he got a flash of golden-blonde curls that immediately made him think, _Jace_. But as the figure stood up, Luke could see the differences: the hourglass body-shape, the long, graceful legs, and he knew that this, certainly, wasn't Jace.

"Pete," Luke called out. Everybody stared him, casting pointed, sideways glances at the girl by the counter before returning their gazes to him. Something didn't feel right, he noticed - something in their silence and their wary expressions… "Pete. What's wrong?"

Luke could see the muscles working in Pete's jaw, even from a distance. Pete leaned over the counter abruptly, staring the girl intently in the eyes. "And you're _still_ sure you want to do this?" he whispered in a low, rumbling voice.

The girl nodded, slowly and deliberately, making Pete's already tense shoulders tighter with defeat. "Her," he growled, stiffly jerking his chin toward her. "She's the one who wants to talk to you." Oddly enough, Pete seemed angrier with himself than with her.

_That girl?_ , Luke thought. _She's_ _the Shadowhunter?_ His blue eyes scanned her head to toe, and then examined her a second time, and then again. He searched for a clue; some sort of sign like a scar or a Mark or a rune that indicated she truly was one of the Nephilim. But there wasn't any convincing evidence. And Luke wasn't really certain that she _was_ one of the Nephilim.

With a sort of formal elegance, the girl turned and faced him, and when Luke saw her face, he again thought of Jace. Though this girl had nothing of Jace's arrogance in her, they both shared the same, compelling, golden-type looks, and a similar, handsome, structure to the mold of their faces; but that was where the similarities ended. He couldn't see anything about Jace in the way she held herself. After all, Jace _always_ looked like a warrior, even when he was only standing. But this girl had something about her; something humble yet dignified, a perfect balance of fragility and pride that was somehow just as intriguing as Jace's cool arrogance. A more noticeable difference, however, was her expression; oddly vulnerable- something Jace's never was. Astonishment flickered in her crystal blue eyes like icy flames. "You," she began, breathlessly; fixing her stunning eyes on Luke. "-_You_ are Lucian Greymark…"

Confusion and awe followed each other across her features, reminding Luke of Clary when she was young, getting her first set of drawing pencils as a birthday gift. Her eyes studied his face carefully, almost tentatively; as if she was searching for something just below his skin. Obviously, she knew about him one way or another- he could see that in her eyes- but he still wasn't sure what _his_ connection was to this girl. He'd never seen her before in his life.

She dropped her gaze almost shyly and tightened her grip on the blood-red cloak in her arms. As her wrist moved, Luke caught sight of a tell-tale flash of silver on the back of her hand: a scar, but the scar was somehow wrong. Yes, the Mark it came from was one that all Shadowhunters wore; an eye-shaped Rune that allowed for clairvoyant sight and extra dexterity with weapons… But that Mark wasn't supposed to fade into a scar. It was one of the few Marks that never left a Shadowhunter; it was supposed to be permanent.

"What is it you needed to talk to me about?" Luke asked.

She glanced down at the floor, her long, silvery lashes casting soft shadows on her delicate cheekbones. "I want you to turn me into the Clave."

"What? On what grounds?" he sputtered incredulously. Luke shot a glance at Pete, but he was turned away, busying himself with scrubbing the bar. He had never said _anything_ about this girl being a criminal.

"I've committed treason against the Clave."

"Treason?" Luke gave her a judging glance. "Look," he began. "Whatever it is you think you've done, I'm sure that the Clave won't consider it as serious as treason-"

"No," she answered in a small voice. "They will." She glanced up at him, self-hatred blazing in her eyes like fire behind tinted glass. She set her jaw stubbornly, with an arrogant tilt to her chin that made her look more like Jace than ever. "I," she began coldly. "-Am a member of Valentine's Circle. _I_ was the one who aided Jonathan in bringing down Alicante's Wards, and _I_ was the one who caused the bloodshed that followed."

A few astonished, vicous snarls came from the lycanthropes between her and Luke. Everybody there had fought in the battle of Brocilind Plain or knew of a fellow wolf who had waged that bloody war. Most Shadowhunters would have thought twice about angering such a large group of lycanthropes, especially to that degree, but not a single flicker of fear touched her expression. The only sign of emotion from her was the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

"I deserve whatever the Clave punishes me with, Lucian." she finished in a tired voice. "Those aren't even the worst of my sins." She exhaled raggedly, and the proud tilt to her chin disappeared entirely, as if the effort of acting so conceited had exhausted her. Luke was still wrapping his mind around what she'd just said. _A member of the Circle?_, he thought. _She knew Valentine?_ … She didn't look like much of a villain to him at all; there was too much innocence in her. She simply looked lost; in the same way he'd been lost after his first transformation, and he could feel her vulnerability and loneliness as if it was his own.

"Come on," he said evenly, gesturing to the narrow hall-way.

She nodded without meeting his eyes and followed him past the glowering group of lycanthropes into the shadowy corridors of the Moon.

* * *

"Clary," said Jace, trying to hide the amusement in his voice. "That is _not_ how you hold a sword."

Clary glared up at him, her green eyes flashing angrily. No matter how hard she tried, it was always impossible for her to wrap her hand around the hilt the way he'd told her to. The handle always seemed too bulky compared to her tiny hands, and the blade never felt quite balanced when she held it in the way he said. There was either too much weight at the tip of the sword or too much weight near the hilt. Of course, Jace was perfect at these things, and asking him to explain the dos and don'ts of sword-handling only made her more jealous of his natural talent.

She meant to throw him a clever comeback, but a buzzing vibration from her back pocket caught her short. She tucked a wisp of her red hair behind her ear and grabbed the cell phone out of her jeans, glancing at the caller ID.

It was Luke.

Immediately she flipped the phone open and pressed it to her ear. "Hey," she greeted. "What's up?"

Luke skipped the small talk. "Is Jace there?" he asked. There was something stiff and businesslike in his voice that she didn't like.

"Yeah. Why? Is something wrong?"

Silence.

He deftly changed the subject. "Can I talk to him?"

"Why?" she demanded again, worry freezing her chest. She glanced to her side; watching as Jace's gold eyes darkened with concern. "Luke. What's wrong?"

Luke sighed. "Clary, please; just give the phone to Jace."

"No," she insisted, her hand gripping the phone even tighter. "Not until you tell me what's going- "

Jace unexpectedly snatched the phone from her, and the rudeness of the action caught her off guard. She briefly considered whacking him over the head, lashing out at him in anger… but then she saw his face and the tension in his mouth. "This is Jace," he said, his eyes boring holes into the hardwood floor of the Institute.

At the other end of the line, Clary could hear a buzzing sort of noise that must have been Luke. She buried her hands in her sweater pockets; waiting uncomfortably for some kind of a reaction from Jace to tell her what was going on. When she finally got one, it wasn't good. Color began to slowly drain from his face as Luke continued to talk, making his golden hair and eyes startlingly dark against his skin. He glanced at her suddenly, his face hard, almost angry. But he wasn't looking at her. His eyes seemed to be staring past her, his gazed fixed on the wall behind her.

"Are you sure?" Jace questioned; his voice level and fierce.

There was a buzz at the other end. Jace's jaw stiffened.

"Consider it done," he said, flipping the phone closed.

Clary snatched her cell back from him as soon as he was finished. "What's going on?" she demanded furiously.

His expression was unreadable when he finally looked at her. "I'm bringing you home."

"But _why_? What did Luke tell you?"

His shoulders were tense, but the tone to his voice was light; almost carefree. "If he wanted you to know, he would've told you don't you think?"

"_Jace_," she growled. "This isn't funny."

He shrugged. "All you need to know is that you're going home," he said simply, as if that would answer her question. Clary threw him a venomous glare, but he didn't seem affected by it. Jace was stubborn- almost as much as she was. She knew he wasn't going to tell her anything.

He crossed the room with cat-like grace and vanished through the doorway. When he reappeared, her coat was hooked on one of his fingers.

"Come on," was all he said.

With a childish scowl, Clary stormed across the room, grabbed her jacket from Jace, and stomped down the dim hallway to the elevator. "Whatever," she mumbled. At least if she went home she might get an answer to her question; from her mother if no one else.

Jace followed behind her wordlessly, making her even angrier because of it. Ever since the battles with Valentine and Jonathan- even after she'd _proven_ herself to be a capable, strong Shadowhunter- she felt as if everyone still treated her like a useless mundane. Tutors had come to the Institute to replace Hodge as well as train her, but the most basic of lessons were difficult for her. Really, she wasn't improving at _anything_; except maybe for her ability with Runes. She would think sometimes of Ithuriel and wonder if he had just given her the gift to create Marks and had unfairly given Jace all the rest. It certainly seemed that way to _her_.

When they got out onto the street, Jace hailed a cab and Clary climbed in without looking at him. She sat sulking with her arms crossed moodily over her chest, refusing to let the familiar smell of stale cigarettes in the upholstery comfort her. Jace tried to start a conversation with her a few times, but she ignored him. And the fact that she managed to not talk to him for the entire ride home was a small victory.

As soon as the driver pulled to a stop in front of her apartment, Clary stepped out and slammed the door shut, leaving Jace to trail after her. He did so almost instantly, with a quick nod to the cabby before the taxi sped off into the thick, rainy night. Together, they scaled the stairs to her floor in an eerie silence and Jace knocked on the door impatiently. Why _he _was the one being impatient Clary couldn't understand. _She_ was the one who wasn't getting any answers. After a moment, her mother answered the door. Clary could see the simple wedding band glittering on her mother's left hand as she held it open. Her hair was carelessly tied back; unable to disguise the expression of complete bewilderment on her face. But that look hardened when she saw Jace, and as she turned her gaze to her daughter.

"Clary," Jocelyn began in a measured voice. "I thought you were going to stay at the Institute for a few more hours. Is something wrong?"

She couldn't help but notice the icy glances her mother was shooting Jace's way. She might have been worried if he took any notice of it, but he didn't seem aware of the hostility at all; Jace was lounging against the wall and inspecting his finger-nails, contemptuously unaware of his own personal elegance.

"You mean Luke didn't call you first?" Clary asked carefully. Jocelyn eased into the doorway with a fresh look of bafflement, and the response temporarily made Clary forget her anger towards Jace. Did her mother really not know something was happening? And if she didn't, what was so serious the Luke would call Jace before his own wife?

"Call me?" Jocelyn repeated inquisitively. Her green eyes sparkled as she shook her head. "No, Luke hasn't talked to me since this morning…Unless…Oh God," she added. Fury and horror began to storm in her peridot eyes, along with a realization that Clary couldn't understand. "Clary, you're not pregnant are you?" she pronounced in a chilling, terrifying voice. "-Because if you are, I swear by the Angel that I - "

Clary felt her cheeks turn an unprecedented shade of red. Behind her, Jace gave an arrogant scoff. "Believe me," he replied in a dry tone. "I have better things to do than impregnate your daughter."

Jocelyn gave him a glare that would have made most, normal people turn on their heels and run. As it was - it was _Jace_- and Clary could only watch in horror as he shot her mother a malicious grin.

She could have sworn she_ heard_ her mother's temper snap.

"I'm NOT pregnant, mom." Clary clarified in a steady voice, before things got out of hand. "It's Luke. He called me and wanted to talk to Jace…"

Her voice trailed off as she turned around, studying Jace's face. She only hoped that he could fill in the blank that she couldn't. A somber expression passed over his features before he spoke, in the way that made him seem more like a Shadowhunter than ever. He seemed distant to her; almost untouchable.

"Luke is bringing a girl to the Institute. He wasn't very specific, but it looks like she was in the Circle. She's claiming to have helped bring down Alicante's wards, along with a host of other things."

Jocelyn's body went rigidly tense at the mention of the Circle; as if she'd been submerged in ice-water. "Is she dangerous?"

Jace shrugged. "Dangerous enough for him to want Clary out of there. I didn't ask too many questions."

There was something that glinted in Jace's eyes; as if he knew more, but had already decided against saying it. Clary turned from him and glanced up helplessly at her mother's stern face, fighting the urge to scream. She knew what this new stranger at the Institute meant. Her training there was being temporarily thrown out the window.

"Then Clary will stay here until this mystery girl is gone," Jocelyn responded. Authority rang in her voice, as if that was the end of discussion.

"Mom, please," Clary cut in. "I _need_ to go to the Institute. I have to keep training…"

"Your training can wait, Clary."

Her mother nodded stonily at Jace and thanked him for bringing her home, but Clary didn't wait to hear Jace's response. She pushed past her mother and bolted into the apartment, ignoring them both as they called her name.

* * *

Luke flipped his phone closed with a snap and slipped back into Pete's office.

The room was messy, littered with envelopes and papers and unopened bills, but that wasn't what struck him most. The blonde girl from before was sitting in a shabby office chair, looking painfully out of place. Her regal posture and inhuman elegance seemed only amplified by the dinginess of the room, and it was bizarre to see her surrounded by such a mess; like seeing a priceless painting hanging in a run-down shack. It made him feel embarrassed to think he had ever brought her there in the first place.

She didn't seem to mind the clutter. Even as cold and drenched and lost as she was, she seemed forever radiant; as if she was made of pure sunlight. Her loose, blonde curls had begun to dry, and the hair cascaded down her back like rivers of gold to where it ended at her waist. Her knee-length black dress had become strikingly dark against the fair, flawless skin of her arms and legs, splotched even darker in the parts where it was still damp with rain-water. Her hands were folded in her lap, her jewel-blue eyes cast downward in an expression of barely concealed misery; like that of an angel being shot out of the sky…

She was beautiful, he realized, suddenly; in the way that the rolling green hills and chiseled mountains and clear glassy lakes of Idris were beautiful. It was a wholesome beauty, an untainted beauty; something rare and unique that could only be found in one tiny pocket of the world…

With a harsh noise, the door clicked closed behind him. The girl looked up as if startled by the sound, but Luke glanced away before her gaze could meet his.

There was a moment of silence.

"Was that Clarissa?" she asked. Her voice was soft, but steady; without a hint of fear.

"I don't think you're in much of a position to be asking questions."

She didn't respond; didn't even seem _interested_ in defending herself. "What's your name?" he asked after another pause.

"Eve."

_Eve_, Luke thought. No. He had never heard that name before: especially not where Valentine was concerned. Which made it just another piece of information that didn't add up.

Nothing about her, in fact, seemed to make any sense. She claimed to be a member of the Circle, but was willing to surrender to the Clave. She used Shadowhunter vocabulary, but only bore a single Mark. She allied herself with Valentine, yet went to lycanthropes- _Downworlders_- for help. The whole story seemed off.

And why Valentine would want her in the Circle at all was a mystery. This girl didn't look like a warrior; she didn't appear physically strong or have any scars to suggest that she'd ever been in a battle. What could Valentine have possible gained by having her at his side? She was beautiful to be sure, and captivating as well, but she was hardly a weapon of mass destruction. But if what this Eve-girl said was true, Valentine had certainly prized her; and had kept her very secret indeed. Luke had never caught so much as a _whisper_ in Downworld of such a girl…And if Downworld had no idea about her, then the chance that the Clave knew anything about her either was slim.

She was entirely still as she waited for him to speak: The only indication that she was even alive was the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He briefly wondered if that patience was natural to her, or if it was something she had learned from years of practice.

He pulled up a dusty, plastic, fold-up chair and sat down in front of her, his glasses flashing white as they caught at the light. "How much do you know about me?"

She- _Eve_, rather- glanced up at him, her features set with pain. "Only what Valentine told me. He said you were once his closest friend, his parabatai; until the day you betrayed him at the Uprising."

Mention of the Uprising brought back a stream of memories to Luke: fighting with Valentine on the dais of the Accords Hall, wild with fury, surrounded by the battle and the blood… "My friend Pete said you asked for my name, but didn't give a description. Did you know what I looked like before now?"

"No," she replied. "Valentine never allowed me to see pictures and he never gave a physical description of anyone he talked about."

"Do you have any idea _why_ he wouldn't tell you?"

She shook her head slightly. "I never asked."

Luke gave her a critical look. It was strange, he thought, the way she addressed Valentine- not Lord or Master or another variation of the two- but by his first name; as if they were friends. It was another thing that didn't really fit, but she seemed honest. He could only assume she was telling the truth.

"Why turn yourself in to the Clave?" Luke asked. "Why not run; go into hiding? You already escaped the Clave's judgment. So, technically, you're a free woman." He folded his hands in his lap. "What made you decide that getting caught is better than staying out of trouble with the Clave?"

At that, she lowered her gaze to her hands. There was a long silence before she spoke and when she looked at him again, Luke regretted asking the question. "I-," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "-I can't help but think that I'm disobeying him- disobeying Valentine- somehow… by living… living when he is gone." She let her voice trail off as she spun her head to the side, gluing her bright eyes on the wall. Luke had been to enough funerals to know that expression; and to know how hard she was working to fight back tears.

"Why come to me, then?" Luke replied quietly. "When you knew how much Valentine hated me?"

She turned back to him slowly, her expression as vulnerable as a small child's. "I hoped that you would understand why."

"Why what?"

"Why I loved him," she whispered in a distant voice.

Luke was taken aback. "Love _who_?" he sputtered. "-_Valentine_?"

"No," she breathed in the same entranced voice. Her hair danced as she shook her head. "No. Not Valentine…"

Luke only had enough time to narrow his eyes in confusion before his phone rang. The sound was cruelly abrupt, making his hand fly to his pocket instinctively. The number on the caller ID was unfamiliar, and Luke answered it suspiciously.

"Hello," said Luke, not looking away from Eve.

"It's Jace," a recognizable voice replied. He could hear the sound of traffic in the back-round, as if he were calling from a payphone.

Luke sighed. "Is anything wrong?"

"No." Jace replied. "Clary is safe at home. I'm heading back to the Institute."

"Alright," Luke answered. "Thank you."

He flipped the phone closed, buried it again in his coat pocket, and turned his attention back toward the girl.

"Eve," he said. She looked up at him through her eyelashes; as if she was avoiding his gaze. "You're going to have to come with me to the Institute. The Clave authorities will want to know that you're being held in a secure location."

She nodded simply.

He took a quick scan of the room, looking for something he could use to bind her hands. Ideally, handcuffs would have been of the most use to him, but there was nothing there that suited his purposes; or so he thought. Suddenly, he spied a length of industrial size chain- the kind that tow trucks used for hauling other vehicles. Luke wondered for a moment why it was there, until he realized: That heavy-duty chain was one of the few things strong enough to restrain a werewolf during a transformation. It made sure the lycanthropes didn't run rampant around New York City in wolf form. And it would certainly hold an unmarked Shadowhunter.

_A little overboard_, Luke thought, _but at least she won't get away_.

She seemed to read his mind. As soon as he got the chain, she outstretched her hands, letting him knot the metal coil around her delicate-looking wrists. She didn't complain, although Luke knew that the weight of the bulky, makeshift manacles must have been treacherous. Even _his_ arms were strained as he carried the weight. He couldn't imagine how heavy it must have been for _her_…

Following his lead, Eve silently trailed beside him. He walked out of the Hunter's Moon and into the rain-drenched street, glancing at his side every few seconds to make sure she was still staying in line. Her blood-colored cloak was still clutched in her hands, and her satchel was still slung on her shoulder. She held to them as if they were the last things she had left. He wondered if they were.

As they reached his truck, Luke opened the passenger-side door and Eve climbed into the seat obligingly; without him having to ask her to do anything. The downpour of rain seemed less impressive than before, as if the pounding of water on his truck had begun to bore him. He squinted up at the sky for a moment, then in a single motion he opened the driver-side door and swung himself up into his place. It was surprising how grateful he was, to be out of that rain, in his familiar truck.

He made to get his keys out of his pocket- and cussed as he was interrupted, yet _again_, by another phone call. Without scanning the caller ID, he flipped open his phone and pressed it to his ear. He stole a quick glance at Eve before he spoke, but already she was staring out of the rain smeared window, seemingly unaware to what he was doing.

"Hello?" Luke answered, his tone gruff.

"_Luke_," breathed a familiar voice. "Luke, are you alright?"

He would have recognized that voice anywhere.

"Jocelyn," He sighed. "Yeah, I'm fine. I –"

"Jace told me what's going on," she cut in. "I just wanted to make sure you were safe…"

Luke let himself smile. "I'm fine."

"Good." she replied. There was a pause on her end. "You'd better go."

"Yeah," he frowned. "I'd better."

There was another pause.

"I love you Luke." was all she said.

He swallowed with some difficulty. "Yeah. You too."

As soon as he pressed the end button he glanced to his side and saw Eve. There was an expression of total wonder on her face. "That was Jocelyn, wasn't it?" she asked. "_The_ Jocelyn Fairchild…"

"Jocelyn Greymark, now," Luke grinned, staring out the windshield.

To his surprise, she smiled back, but the expression was bittersweet. "It must be beautiful," she said quietly. "To be loved like that."

He shot a quick look at her, wondering what she meant; but she was already gazing out of the passenger window, through the steady stream of water on the glass, out to the street beyond.

* * *

Hoped you enjoyed it! Thank you for reading!

**PLEASE REVIEW! OR I WILL SEND VALENTINE MORGENSTERN AFTER YOU! **( I have connections, you know...)


	3. Chapter 3: Guilty?

**EEEP! Hello people. Forgive me for not updating for a billion years but ******Spoiler Alert***** this chapter contains a lengthy description of Eve's past, (Oh. Such a spoiler.) and when I started to think about her past, I was possesed to write a prequel to this story, because I just have so many moments/ ideas with Jonathan and Eve and Valentine that would be too difficult to explain after the fact...**

**So. I will continue writing this story, while also writing the prequel - called _'The Morgenstern Girl'_ - and _'Eden'_ will make sense whether you read the prequel or not...But the prequel has a faster pace to it... And a _lot_ of halarious/cute moments. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own nothin'. All props to Cassandra Clare.**

**P.S.: _PAUL BETTANY SHOULD PLAY VALENTINE MORGENSTERN IN THE CoG MOVIE! HE'S SO PERFECT!_**

******...******

**(Akhem)... On with the story...**

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Jace paced back and forth in the entryway: listening for the rumble of Luke's truck through the steady pounding of the rain. Bits of candlelight illuminated the room, casting strange, dancing shadows on his skin, but he hardly seemed to notice it. He felt as if he had been waiting there for hours, though the heavy, marble clock barely seemed to move between one glance and the next: Time always passed slowly when he was alone.

Robert and Maryse had left even before Clary had arrived – on a dinner-date, they had said; and they had _not_ been impressed when he called them. But no one, Jace supposed, would be happy if their romantic evening was interrupted by urgent business: Especially if said urgent business required dealings with the Silent Brothers.

As soon as he had told Maryse and Robert about Luke's new mystery-girl, they had notified the Clave. It was mandatory to report any suspicious activity – anything that might go against Clave law or the Covenant – to the Conclave; and when the Inquisitor heard the news, he took a particular interest in the Eve-girl. Arrangements had been made, shortly after. The Inquisitor was to have an audience with her that very evening in Bone City.

Jace had tried to reason with the Inquisitor through Maryse; to tell him that the girl's tale wasn't reliable and that Luke was only bringing her to the Institute because it was his duty. But the Inquisitor, Maryse said, had remained adamant. Jace and Luke were under orders to keep the girl at the Institute until one of the Brothers came to escort them to the City.

As for Alec and Isabelle, they had slunk off earlier in the afternoon – Alec probably to go see Magnus and Isabelle to go see Simon. She had been spending a lot of time, lately, Jace noticed, with the vampire… He made a mental note to ask her what was going on between them, later.

Jace stopped pacing, suddenly, catching a noise from outside.

It was the roar of an engine.

The golden elevator-door glinted behind him as he stood still. Absently, he noticed that his hands were clenched at his sides, though he couldn't imagine why. This girl wasn't a threat, he reminded himself. She was a fake, most likely: a crazy Circle fanatic who only wished that she could do the things that she claimed – but a part of him was unsure. What kind of girl would want to stir up trouble with the Clave for a lie?

_A stupid one_, he thought bitterly.

There was a muffled thud from outside – the sound of the truck door closing. Jace spun around to face the magnificent set of doors that Luke would inevitably come through and waited. It would be five, maybe ten seconds more, then he would know – know if this girl was a fake or not. His chest rose and fell quickly, as if he had been running.

The first thing he saw when the doors creaked open was Luke.

Rain thundered in the street behind him, caught in the glow of the streetlights, framing him with what looked like a neon shower of sparks.

And then the girl walked in.

Jace hadn't thought about how she would look, but if he had, he supposed he would have conjured up an image close to Isabelle; someone with dark, mysterious features and coloring. Someone who looked capable of following Valentine.

This girl looked nothing like that. She was obviously beautiful, though very unlike Isabelle: more delicate and fragile, like something made of spun glass. Almost, he thought, like a porcelain doll; with her fair skin and her waist-length golden curls and her ocean-blue eyes.

Luke eyed him tiredly; his spectacles perched crookedly on the bridge of his nose. "This is the girl I was telling you about, Jace," said Luke, closing the door. "This is Eve."

Jace met her gaze over the empty line of pews. She quickly averted her eyes. He noticed, then, for the first time, the glinting length of chain coiled around her wrists. The metallic rope was absurdly bulky; the sort of thing used for industrial purposes. It was almost comical how it wrapped around her arms, covering half her forearms like an iron glove.

He shot Luke an 'isn't-that-a-little-overkill?' look, but the older man seemed well aware of how ridiculous the restraints were. The girl – Eve –had a satchel slung over her shoulder, on top of the already excessive weight on her arms: and not a _small_ satchel at that. He wondered how she seemed to bear all that weight so casually; if she was really unaware of the strain, or if she was just putting on a strong front.

"This way," Jace directed, pulling aside the gilded elevator door.

Eve was the first to move, crossing the floor with noiseless grace. Her eyes remained downcast as she past him, hidden underneath her long silvery lashes like jewels. He wondered, for a moment, why she refused to look at him, then Luke slid into the elevator behind Eve and Jace was forced to follow.

The ride to the second floor was eerily silent. Neither he, nor Luke, nor the girl seemed inclined to speak to each other at all.

_You can't stay silent forever_, Jace thought determinedly. He glimpsed in the mirrored wall of the elevator, just in time to see her eyes glued on his reflection. She saw him staring back at her in the glass and immediately turned her face away, her curtain of blonde curls unable to hide the flush in her cheeks.

Jace twisted to face her with a cold grin. "I know what you're thinking," he began, cruelly. "My stunning good-looks and magnetic personality have already drawn you in, haven't they? Have the torrid fantasies begun yet? The daydreams?-"

"Actually," she answered without looking at him. "I was wondering how someone as arrogant as you could have possibly killed the great Jonathan Morgenstern."

Jace's grin widened, showing bits of his white teeth. "Very easily, to tell you the truth," Jace leaned in towards her, as if telling her a secret. "He must not have been very special, if he ended up dead."

She turned to face him and Jace felt a sudden surge of confusion. He had thought that she would be furious, that she would not be able to control her rage. But her expression held nothing like anger. She looked tentatively interested, like his comment was somehow distantly familiar. But her eyes were just as tired as Luke's had been – a profound sort of tired, like her mind hadn't been at rest for months.

"For someone so opposed to Jonathan," she replied with a thoughtful expression. "– you act an awful lot like him."

_That, _momentarily, shut him up. Jace was only vaguely aware of Luke's careful watch over them as he scowled at her. Jonathan Morgenstern was a monster, a murderer: he knew he was nothing like him –

And he was about to say so when Eve smiled.

It was a beautiful, shy sort of smile, that reminded him somehow of Clary. It caught him slightly off guard, to think that he had compared this girl, this girl that he had just met – this girl that was supposed to be his _enemy_ – to Clary. But there it was.

"And like Jonathan," she continued softly. "– you despise being the victim of anyone's joke but your own. Does it bother you? To think that you and Jonathan are the same in some small way?"

Jace ignored this, partially because it was true. "How do you know so much about Jonathan Morgenstern?"

She shot him a knowing look, as if she realized she had been right, but didn't pursue the matter. She shrugged elegantly before answering him. "I lived with him for ten years. Naturally, he and I knew each other well."

There was a nauseating lurch underneath their feet as the elevator stopped. The golden doors slid open and Eve strolled out obligingly, waiting for Luke and him to follow. It must have been the first polite convict Jace had ever encountered.

"You _lived_ with each other?" Jace echoed. He fell into step beside her and looked to see that Luke had done the same. The two of them paced her on either side like a pair of security guards. "And where was Valentine that whole time? – Assuming," he added. "That your story is true."

"Living with us also, of course," She chuckled, as if the idea of them living alone together was ridiculous. "When we were children he left us alone together, certainly, but once we grew older…" A slight flush crept to her cheeks. "Valentine may have doted on Jonathan, but he wasn't naïve. He knew his son – and what he may do when… when unsupervised."

They walked for a few minutes in almost-silence, Jace glaring stonily forward. He led them through the labyrinth of corridors until they reached the library, where Hodge had once spent the majority of his time. But thinking of Hodge brought a stream of unwanted memory to Jace, like a bursting flood-gate. The look on his tutor's face as the light faded from his eyes, side-by-side with Sebastian's – _Jonathan's_ – malicious grin. The way the fire had crackled in the Gard… Was it possible that there had been another girl? Someone Valentine had kept secret from them all – even in death?

Jace tried to avoid looking at Hodge's old desk as he guided them to the cluster of chairs in the corner and took a seat. The empty hearth beside them seemed desolate, as if it hadn't been used for ages. He wondered when it _had _been used last.

Eve sat on a short couch in front of him, Luke leaning against the back of one of the chairs beside him; the three of them waiting for the other to speak. In the end, though, it was Jace who broke the silence.

"The Inquisitor is going to send one of the Brothers shortly," he told her. "He's requested an audience with you in Bone City."

Understanding lit her eyes as she nodded. He noticed that her eyes weren't entirely blue like he had thought. They were flecked with a deep gold very much like his own. It was a fascinating combination, something that caught his interest against his will. "But I have a few questions of my own." Jace continued. "First of all, I'm curious as to why Valentine kept you so close; close enough to let you know Jonathan. From what I hear, not many people knew he even existed."

She looked slightly surprised, like she hadn't expected the question. "The answer is not as simple as you may think," she began slowly. "It is part of a greater story. To answer your question, I would also have to explain how I met Valentine, the nature of my birth…"

Jace's golden eyes flashed somberly. "I think we have time."

A dark thoughtfulness settled over her features like mist. She paused, staring past him. "I suppose you already know about Valentine's experiments," she began gravely. "– what he did to Jonathan?"

Jace nodded.

"Valentine told me," she went on. "– that after Jonathan was born, he fell into despair. He had wanted a warrior, he said, a successor that would follow in his footsteps: but Jonathan did not fit Valentine's mold. Jonathan was too vindictive, too rash… Valentine knew that his son was not the heir he desired, even when Jonathan was barely an infant…" She shook her head slowly, as if the thought saddened her. "So Valentine panicked; he made the preparations, he summoned an angel, hoping that if he took some of the angel's blood and injected it into Jonathan, maybe the good nature would counteract the bad: the way an antidote neutralizes the poison. Jonathan was still very young, possibly young enough to still be changed…"

"I'm guessing it didn't work," Jace cut in. "Otherwise I wouldn't have had to sink a dagger into his back."

Eve winced slightly. "It is true," she confirmed in a tight voice. "Valentine planned to experiment on a few animals first, to test what would happen if a subject had both bloods injected into it. He wanted to make sure that his son's life wouldn't be compromised if he went along with the process. But he got only a short way in his research before he could not continue. The bloods would not mix when he filled the syringe, you see. In fact, as soon as the two bloods came into contact with each other," She frowned. "Well, all hell broke loose, as the saying goes."

Luke leaned forward slightly. "What do you mean?"

"It was like trying to mix water into hot oil, Valentine said. The angelic warred against the demonic even on the most primary level – even with the blood in their veins. The two bloods would spit and boil for what seemed like hours, until the reaction subsided and only one of the two natures remained. The angel's blood would dominate the demon's blood or the demon's blood would dominate the angel's blood, leaving only the victor behind. There was no in-between."

"But Valentine couldn't let it go, could he?" Jace mused, leaning into the plush back of the chair. "He continued experimenting."

"Yes, this time he used the animal test subjects, injecting the two bloods separately." The chain around her arms rattled as she shifted her hands. "There was a fifty-fifty chance, he thought, that they would inherit the angelic nature, and he considered that reasonable odds. Only after he conducted his tests did he realize that the chances were less favorable than he'd thought. There was a fifty percent death-rate in the subjects; leaving only a twenty-five percent chance that Jonathan would survive and get any better…and it was a gruesome death, also – as if the animal was being eaten away from the inside." She shuddered. "Valentine began to loose hope that he would ever have his heir."

"– And so he went to Stephen and Celine Herondale," Jace finished for her. "– and gave the pregnant Celine a small quantity of Angel's blood, that she ate periodically. Then, eight months later, pop," He made a sudden gesture with his hands. "There I was, Valentine's angelic little Plan B, his heir; but I still don't see where you fit in," he added.

Eve smiled again, another one of her soft, affectionate grins. "Don't be so egotistical, Jace," she said with tired fondness. "You were an afterthought, it's true, but you weren't the first one. I am a few months older than you. I was first."

He shot her a guarded look. "That makes no sense."

She gazed at him with her stunning, gold-flecked eyes, a guiltless question floating in their depths. "Why would it not?"

_Because you're a girl_, Jace thought. _And Valentine would never consider a girl to be a worthy successor._

But maybe that was _why_ Valentine had wanted him also. Maybe he had found out that his first attempt at an heir was not the gender he had wanted and tried again. It sounded possible, and certainly realistic –

Something must have shown in his expression, because Eve's shy smile unexpectedly widened. Her teeth were perfect and white just like his. "Ah," she began with an amused look. "Are you thinking that I was unwanted? I am a female, yes, and generally speaking, women prove less useful on the battlefield than a man would, but Valentine was not looking for a boy or a soldier when I was born."

"So what was he looking for?" Luke inquired. There was a steely undertone to his voice, like there always was when he was being authoritative. Eve didn't seem to notice.

"– The ideal warrior," she answered with a note of finality in her voice. "But he only wanted that warrior if it were his kin, his own blood –"

"Then why did he bother with either of us, if all he wanted was a Morgenstern?" Jace demanded.

She seemed to sense his increasing frustration. "Like you said, you were a Plan B," she explained. "A scapegoat in case his plans with me failed." She glanced at her hands distractedly. "I assume he thought that an heir like Jonathan was worse than an heir that didn't share his Morgenstern blood."

Luke took off his spectacles, rubbing the lenses on his flannel shirt. "That still doesn't explain you." Luke insisted. "After Valentine's experimentation with the demon and angel blood, what happened?"

"He thought of an alternative, as he always did." Eve glanced up at Luke with a grim expression. "A way to ensure he had his warrior – his _Morgenstern_ warrior – without having to change Jonathan at all."

"_Oh?_" Jace added lazily. "And how did Valentine plan to do _that_?"

Luke fired a sharp look in his direction, as if he had done something nasty and malicious. _Whose side was he on? _

Eve ignored the sarcasm; as if it were all she was used to. Her voice echoed in his mind:_ 'I lived with him for ten years_,_'_ she had said._ 'Naturally, he and I knew each other well.'_

_She lived with Valentine_, he thought. _And Jonathan_.

_Maybe it_ was _all she was used to, _he realized.

"Valentine contacted my parents, Emile and Minerva," she went on. "Valentine needed a child, infused with the Angel's blood. He and my father had been friends since infancy, so when Valentine came asking the favor," Eve gazed at her bound hands. "– Well my father couldn't bring himself to refuse…"

"Even if it meant giving his child to a madman?" growled Luke. Jace understood him enough to know that it wasn't Eve he was angry at: his anger was directed toward her parents. But Eve didn't know Luke. A flicker of fear passed over her features as Luke glared past her, his spectacles flashing, as if he was about to snap completely and lash out at her.

It made Jace feel suddenly – strangely – furious. Furious at Luke for being so oblivious to her fear.

He waved a hand dismissively, bringing Luke back to reality. "Please don't be angry with them," Eve said in sudden supplication. Her eyes were wide and pleading as she tried to explain. "They – well, my father at least…" Her voice trailed off. "My father had never really thought about children, you see. He and my mother… it was an arranged marriage: they never loved each other. They only stayed together because it was the dutiful thing to do, and my mother hated children, so…" She shook her head absently, her hair dancing around her arms like rippling streams of gold. "I suppose my father didn't bother thinking about children – if he wanted any or not. He knew it was impossible, my mother would never agree… So when Valentine came, asking that he _have_ a child – I don't think he expected it would affect him. He knew that I was meant for Valentine in the end, and I don't think he anticipated that he would care for a child that he never wanted in the first place…"

"I thought you said your mom didn't _want_ children." Luke countered. "What made her change her mind?"

Eve looked suddenly, distantly amused. "My mother loved Valentine," she stated simply. "The way that she should have loved my father, and she wanted to please him." Jace couldn't blame her for smiling as she said it; he almost grinned himself at Luke's nauseous expression. "It was common knowledge at the time that Valentine's marriage to Jocelyn was collapsing," explained Eve. "I assume she thought this favor was the way to win his affections."

"And I'm guessing that Valentine used those feelings to his advantage," suggested Jace with a smirk.

"I have no doubt he did." Eve agreed, darkly. "He was entirely single-minded when it came to getting what he wanted."

Luke, forgotten at Jace's side, crossed his arms and coughed. "So what exactly did Valentine want with you? Was he after you or your blood?"

She gave Luke a curious look. "Have you really not guessed?" She glanced at Jace, but he could only stare back at her. He had no idea what Valentine had planned either. Nothing seemed to add up. Eve's eyes, like sapphires flecked with sun-gold, focused on him. Her gaze was as tender as a memory, and her voice softer than velvet. "Valentine used to read me passages from books when I was younger. Did he for you?"

Jace didn't answer.

"I assume he did," she continued quietly. "He read me the beginning of Genesis once. Have you heard it? It is right after the Creation, where God plants the Garden of Eden and puts Adam in it. Almost immediately, though, God realizes that Adam needs a partner – a companion in Eden– and He brings him all the creatures of the earth, hoping to find him such a helper, but there is none suitable for him. So God creates the first woman, Adam's perfect companion in Eden…"

'"_And Adam called his wife Eve_," Jace quoted, realizing. '"– _because she was the mother of all living_.'"

She nodded.

Heavy silence filled the room as an unwelcome theory formed in Jace's mind. Luckily, Luke said it out loud before he had to. "You said Valentine wasn't trying to change Jonathan anymore. He'd given up hope that Jonathan would ever be his heir – his warrior," said Luke. His blue eyes widened with understanding. "But to have a Morgenstern warrior would mean that his heir would have to be Jonathan's child, and any child of Jonathan's would inherit the demon-blood also… And Valentine knew that injecting a Demon-child with Angel's blood might kill it…Unless –"

"Unless the Angel's blood was a natural part of that child – part of its genetics," Jace finished for him. "Parents pass their blood onto their children, so if the child's father was Jonathan, who had demon blood, and its mother had Angel blood in her veins…" Jace eyed Eve thoughtfully, his voice trailing off.

"Then the child would have the mixture of both natures that Valentine wanted: with all the powers of both, and none of the negative disadvantages." Luke's face had taken on a slightly green color. "That's why Valentine wanted you, wasn't it? You were meant to bear Jonathan's child, so that Valentine could have his perfect Morgenstern warrior."

Eve met his gaze steadily. "It's true," she said with a hint of warmth in her voice. "I was born to be with Jonathan."

"And you were fine with this?" roared Luke.

Eve gazed up sadly at Luke, and the way the dim light hit her face made her truly look like an angel. It was easy for Jace to imagine that that celestial blood ran in her veins.

"It was not as bad as you think," she whispered, seeing Luke's expression. "Valentine adored me. And Jonathan cared for me also, in his own strange way… I was raised in luxury, given an excellent education, trained by one of the most brilliant Shadowhunters of our day. Not every girl in Idris is given such an opportunity."

Luke slumped into one of the arm chairs. He looked like he desperately needed a coffee. "Alright," he slowly began. "But there are a few things that still need to be explained."

Eve raised an eyebrow delicately in his direction. "Like what?"

"Like why you barely have any Marks," Luke continued, gesturing to the single Rune-scar on Eve's hand. "I can imagine how it is, being raised by Valentine. I find it hard to believe he didn't Mark you excessively as soon as he got the chance."

A thoughtful smile touched the corner of her mouth as she glanced at her bound hands. "If you were to ask Valentine why I have so few Marks, he probably would have told you that it was because I don't need to be excessively Marked: I have one of the Angel's own gifts, one that doesn't require me to be fully Marked like other Nephilim."

"Would that be the truth?" Jace asked with a hard edge to his voice.

"Part of it, yes," she replied. "It is true that I have a gift, but it was not like Valentine to conserve a talent if he could use it for his own personal gain. No, the real reason he didn't like me using my gift was because it reminded him of who he really was rebelling against."

Jace leaned forward in his armchair. "And who would that be?"

She frowned, staring at her feet. "Heaven, of course."

Jace shook his head. He didn't even _want_ to know what her gift was. His mind was already spinning as it was.

Luke sought out his eyes over the chair-back, and Jace saw that they were thinking the same thing: Her story was certainly believable, and everything she said seemed to add up, but how could they _really_ know she was telling the truth until the Silent Brothers went through her memories and _proved_ it?

Jace turned back to Eve. "Do you have any evidence to support your claims? Any way to show us that you truly mean no harm to the Clave?"

She raised her arms to show him her bound hands, the bulky iron ribbon circling her forearms. She sharply pulled her arms apart, effortlessly, with a sound like grating steel as the chain links snapped apart and rattled to the ground. The bits of iron glinted like cutlery, turning over themselves in space before hitting and rebounding off of the library's mosaic floor.

Eve glanced pointedly at the obliterated chain. "If my intention was to kill you," she said flexing her free hands. "You would have both been dead already: I mean you no harm."

Luke gaped at her.

_So she was strong_, Jace noted, his gold eyes blazing. Werewolves couldn't even break chain like that. And yet, despite the display of mangled metal at her feet, Eve still looked impossibly vulnerable. Like a figurine of some ancient martyr, who had met death while still in the beauty of youth.

A sudden, resounding bell-toll shook the Institute and Eve sprung to her feet, tensely alert. Her drawstring bag slid off her lap and hit the floor with a thud.

"They are here?" she asked finally, running her eyes apprehensively over the vaulted ceiling and book-lined walls.

Jace saw her expression – and was hit by a wave of fierce protectiveness for her: She looked worried.

He tried to force the feeling down, without success.

"Yes," said Luke as he stood. After a pause he added, "The Silent Brothers are healers and the guardians of Bone City, Eve: They won't hurt you unless you force their hand."

Jace picked up her bag for her, and as it turned out, it wasn't very heavy after all.

Eve met Jace's gaze – and looked hastily away, her blue eyes smoldering like icy flames. "I'm aware of what the Silent Brothers do," she told him simply, regaining her composure.

Luke gestured to the door and Eve moved as he directed. Jace trailed behind them, bringing up the rear as they reentered the elevator. Once they reached ground level, the gilded doors slid open, revealing a cowled figure in parchment colored robes: one of the Silent Brothers.

Jace thought Eve might have looked stunned as he pulled back his hood, revealing his face, but she didn't. She observed his stitched mouth and socket-less eyes and scarred face as if they were all too familiar. As of the sight was so common that it bored her.

The robed figure turned his distorted face to them. _I am Brother Dominic, _he said, inclining his head toward Eve. _This must be the girl,_ he continued in his inaudible voice.

"I am," she stated fearlessly.

Jace shot her a look. She was blazing with a sort of confidence that she had not had before – with a stubborn sort of pride that reminded Jace of someone, though he could not have said who. Was this really the same girl who had been telling them her life story moments ago?

But Brother Dominic didn't seem affected by her display either way. He ushered her ahead to a carriage outside, similar to the one Clary and he had taken when they had gone to the Silent City, and gestured for Jace to follow. Luke seemed excluded from the invitation, but trailed behind them anyway as they filed outside into the rain drenched night. _The Silent City_, Brother Dominic explained, _is not a place for those outside of the Clave._

It was hard to not notice Luke's disapproval as Eve climbed into the cab of the carriage. Though, it was a mystery why he was disapproving at all. This girl was a criminal – guilty by association, Jace told himself. She ought to be punished. But Jace sensed Luke's hesitation, and somehow, identified with it.

There was something about this girl; something that made him wonder if she really _did_ deserve the Clave's wrath. Something that made him _want_ to protect her.

Jace swung up into the carriage without a word. There were about three other people in the carriage already: burly Shadowhunter men decked out in gear and weapons that were glaring in Eve's direction. Not that she seemed to care.

Despite how tiny she was next to them, Eve looked unafraid; although, Jace reminded himself, if she could rip apart an industrial chain with her bare hands, then she probably didn't need to worry about being attacked.

"Jace?" asked a familiar voice.

Jace turned, met Luke's steely blue gaze and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Take care of her." Luke said in a gruff voice.

He nodded at Luke once.

With one last look at him, Jace closed the carriage door and settled into his seat, anticipating the bumpy ride ahead.

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**Tell me what you think... Sorry for the length and slow pace. (I tried to make it not too confusing but some details had to be in there for future reference, so...) ... Next chapter she meets the Inquisitor!**

**Thank you soooooo much for reading, and check out the prequel as well, if you want...**

**And review.**

**Because you are a good person.**

**Love,  
Fishie.**


	4. Chapter 4: The Inquisitor

**Hello Readers! **

**Here is Chapter 4! (It may have taken me a million years to write it, but...) I hope it was worth the wait! (Maybe? Hopefully?...) **

**Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN ANY OF THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS CHARACTERS!**

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The passages that led through the Silent City were just as Jace had remembered them. They were gloomy and dim – corridors made of dark stone, lit at intervals by eerie witchlight torches. Brother Dominic led at the front, with Eve following behind him, looking as fragile as a tiny bird, and the three Shadowhunters from the carriage had circled her, making a sort of human prison with their hulking bodies.

Jace had kept a careful eye on Eve throughout the procession, but he still couldn't determine how she was feeling: Her posture had remained perfect and relaxed while they walked. And she didn't appear tense or afraid at all.

Although she had every reason to be.

They had already past through the first level of the Silent City, where the mausoleums and the dead rested. And the second level was coming up quickly; the level that Jace knew held the archives and the council rooms. The level that Eve would be interrogated in.

Bluish light caught in Eve's golden hair as she passed a witchlight torch, turning her waist-length curls an ethereal shade of green. The thought of her being interrogated at _all_ sent fury, like a rush of adrenaline, through Jace's blood. He thought of when Clary had been summoned by the Silent Brothers, and the way it had pained her when they had searched through her memories… It wasn't something he wanted to see again. Not with Eve. She wasn't stubborn or strong the way Clary was. And surely her memories were more painful than Clary's could have ever been. The interrogation would cut Eve deeply; that he knew. Far deeper than it ever had with Clary.

_Eve_, Brother Dominic began. Jace started, wondering if the Brother had been reading his mind, and then he registered his surroundings. Brother Dominic had led them to an elaborate doorway, to which Jace assumed was going to be Eve's interrogation room. His fists tightened at his sides.

_You will address the Consul and Inquisitor by their proper titles_, Dominic insisted. _And you will not speak unless spoken to, do you understand?_

Eve nodded, like she usually did when given a command, watching quietly as Brother Dominic opened the massive door. Inside, the council room was immense, with a gleaming, checkered black and white marble floor and pale stone walls. Dominic slipped inside, but instead of trailing after, Eve hesitated. She turned back to look into Jace's face, her gold-blue eyes strangely desperate. "Jace," she asked softly. "Will it be an unkind death?"

Jace stared at her, reeling at her question. "_What?_"

"When they kill me," she repeated. Her voice faltered. "Will it be an unkind death?"

He wondered for a moment if Eve was joking, but her face was set, her expression unremitting. Suddenly, Luke's own face flooded into Jace's memory, showing the way he had looked when he had said to take care of Eve. A protective flurry of rage coursed through Jace like lightning, and this time, he didn't try to force it away.

He pushed his way to her and gripped her shoulders tightly, as if to reassure her by force that he was there.

"_No one_," Jace growled. "– _No_ _one_ is going to kill you."

The Shadowhunters circling her glared, but Jace couldn't care less. He glared right back at them as venomously as he could, and to his surprise, Eve smiled. She reached out her hand and touched the side of his face tenderly, but in her eyes was an old sort of sorrow.

"You remind me so much of Jonathan," she told him, dropping her hand away.

Jace dropped his hands as well. "I don't know why you keep saying that," he said through his teeth. "I'm nothing like him. I saw Jonathan Morgenstern in Alicante; murdering innocent Shadowhunters in cold blood –"

"– The boy you saw in Alicante was not my Jonathan," Eve replied in a distant voice. She seemed to have noticed Jace pull away and appeared hurt by it. "It was a monster with his face."

Part of him wanted to scream at her. Did she really think Jonathan Morgenstern was a saint? Was she really _that_ misguided?

_Eve. Enter_. Brother Dominic commanded.

She turned away slowly and glided into the room.

Jace trailed behind. The Shadowhunters circling her forced him away; knitting themselves closer together, into an impenetrable wall of black fighting gear and glinting weapons. He couldn't even see a glimpse of Eve by the time they entered the council room. What he _did_ see, however, was even more interesting.

Brother Dominic stood next to a desk-like table in the centre of the room; where two men in black robes sat side-by-side. The one closest to Dominic was short, about forty years old, with thinning mousy hair and dull grey eyes. Beside him sat another man; one about the same age, who was tall and regal-looking, with tousled black hair and steady, pine-green eyes. Jace hoped this dark-haired one was Inquisitor; partially because he looked like someone who would be compassionate towards Eve, and partly because the other guy beside him looked like a weasel.

Jace shoved his way to Eve, ignoring the answering growls from the men surrounding her: He knew he had to be at her side, no matter what her verdict was.

He reached her – and instantly knew that he had done the right thing.

She caught his gaze momentarily, and Jace saw that all her courage had slipped away, leaving nothing but a gaping, hopeless void. Barely controlled fear and gratitude crossed her beautiful features as she studied his face.

_Thank you_, her eyes said.

"Is this Eve?" a nasally voice demanded.

The question came from the short man at the table. He had finally caught sight of Eve, obviously, and the way his beady eyes ran down the skin of her legs made Jace want to strangle him.

_Yes, Consul_, Brother Dominic replied. _This is Eve._

Jace almost smiled, despite himself.

If that rat was the Consul, then that meant the dark-haired one was Inquisitor Silverspear. But Jace supposed Eve wasn't _entirely_ out of the woods yet.

Silverspear was a bit of an enigmatic figure, even to those high up in the Clave like Maryse and Robert. He had been Inquisitor Aldertree's replacement; _that_ Jace knew. He also knew that Silverspear had been studying to join the Silent Brothers before his promotion to Inquisitor. And rumor claimed him to be impartial and fair – but Jace had his doubts.

Silverspear saw Eve – and his eyes widened impossibly. "Eve," he murmured. His voice was soft and contemplative – like a prayer.

Quietly, the Inquisitor studied Eve; from the top of her damp gold hair to the scuffed toes of her simple boots, but his gaze was very unlike the Consul's. He stared at Eve like she was a daughter or a sister or a beloved friend that had finally returned to him – not like she was a piece of meat he couldn't wait to chew on.

"Felix," Inquisitor Silverspear said, tearing his eyes from Eve. It sounded, strangely, like he was pleading. "She looks just like him, Felix… Felix, she looks like Emile."

_Emile_, Jace realized. _That_ _was the name of Eve's father. How did the Inquisitor know __him__?_

The Consul nodded his agreement. "It is as we had thought, Argyle. She is undeniably Emile's daughter. She is a mirror image of him… But you can't let this interfere with your judgment. The Council would be displeased if they found out."

"But Felix –" The Inquisitor turned back hopelessly to Eve. He had compelling, high-boned features, Jace thought, and although he could not have been younger than thirty-five, he had a youthfulness that transcended his outward appearance. "Felix, I –"

"If you want," the Consul suggested, glancing hungrily at Eve. "I could conduct the interrogation in your stead. That is, if you don't feel comfortable."

There was a pause.

"No," the Inquisitor replied firmly. Jace wondered if he had been able to see through the Consul's look as well. "No, I must do this; or no one will do it at all."

In a shadowy swirl of robes, the Inquisitor stood. He regarded Eve with a mixture of compassion and stiff formality. "Please, step forward," he told her. "And state your name for the Council."

Jace saw belatedly what looked like a jury of Silent Brothers lined beside one of the cold marble walls, and he thought he saw Eve tremble.

Cautiously, she stepped forward, away from the safety of Jace. "My name is Eve Acadia Morgenstern," she told the Inquisitor rigidly.

The Silent Brothers murmured ominously at that: She had no Morgenstern blood. She had no right to that family name.

Or so they thought.

Silverspear seemed to shudder at the mention of 'Morgenstern', but he inclined his head to her politely, nonetheless. "Eve," he said. " My name is Argyle Silverspear, and this," he added, gesturing to his left. "– is the Consul, Felix."

Felix took the opportunity to flash an obsequious smile at Eve, looking as grimy as a toad as he did.

Jace growled.

Argyle weightlessly strode towards Eve – and he motioned with a finger for her to do the same – so that they met in the middle, only a few paces apart. They both observed each other with silent intensity. But Eve had none of the Inquisitor's peculiar sorrow, only his vulnerable curiosity.

"Forgive me," said the Inquisitor softly. "But I'm afraid that the Silent Brothers are going to have to analyze your memory, Eve… I asked that they only try you by the Sword, but after what Valentine has done…" _They thought it unwise_, his silence said. The Inquisitor shook his head slightly before continuing. "I would like your permission, Eve, to examine you as well. I want to help you as best I can, despite what you may think."

Something flashed in Eve's gold-flecked eyes – a question.

The Inquisitor seemed to understand. "I may not fully be one of the Brothers, but I have learned their talents and their ways: I was training to join the Brotherhood before I was asked to become Inquisitor," he continued. "That is why I will be able to see your memories along with the rest of the Brothers, if you'll let me."

Eve shuddered. "I don't have much of a choice in the matter, do I?" she asked tightly.

The Inquisitor sighed. "No," he answered ruefully. "I suppose not."

Eve dropped her gaze and stood very still for a long time. The only movement from her was the rise and fall of her chest; her hair shining like actual twists of metal to where it fell to her waist.

After a deep breath, the Inquisitor stepped forward, until he was close enough to place his hands on her shoulders – and he did just that – with a tentative sort of affection that Jace was sure everyone noticed.

"What do I do?" Eve whispered.

Silverspear paused and leaned his head closer to hers. "Tell me the earliest memory that you can remember."

Closing her blue eyes, she began. "My first memory is the first time I met Valentine," Eve said. "I was six years old –"

And then her voice cut off with a sharp gasp.

The Inquisitor's fingers tightened suddenly on her shoulders, reflexively, as the strangest sound flowed through the room. Jace thought at first that it may have been the soft rush of running water, but a few more seconds of listening told him it wasn't water at all: It was the Silent Brothers, ominously muttering in their inaudible voices, and Jace knew that they were in her head – examining her memory. Eve seemed to snap apart in that moment – her knees buckled, and she leaned into the Inquisitor for support. Her strength appeared to be gone and she looked impossibly small, next to the looming height of Argyle Silverspear.

As quickly as it had begun, though, it ended. The murmuring stopped. Eve's jewel eyes flew open, at the exact moment as Silverspear's did, and they both stumbled away from each other with matching expressions of shock. However, unlike the Inquisitor, Eve didn't seem to recover her balance as swiftly.

Jace shot forward, just as Eve fell bonelessly to the hard stone floor. He reached her just as her knees hit the ground, moving faster than any other Nephilim could, and caught her lightly in his arms. And she didn't fight him, or try to force him away from where she sat; instead she clung to him like a child, so tightly than if he had been a normal mundane, he would have cried out in pain.

But he wasn't a normal mundane: He was a Shadowhunter.

Eve buried her face in the crook of his neck, her breathing ragged – and Jace drew slowly away to glance down at her, terrified that she was sobbing – But she wasn't crying. There were no tears in her eyes when he saw her, but there was an unguarded horror in them that was somehow worse. Jace remembered Agramon, the Demon of Fear, the way it had known the terrors that lay buried inside each person, and the way it had exploited them. Eve looked the way he had _felt_ with Agramon – like a butterfly pinned to a board – and it made him wish he had seen her memories too. If he knew her inner demons, he could rip them into pieces for her, but there was no way he could comfort her then.

Jace glanced in the direction of the Inquisitor.

Argyle himself was shaken, his chest hitching up and down, his eyes too bright, his skin a shade too pale. He stared at Eve as if she was likely to shatter apart at any moment, and when she didn't, he whispered under his breath, the same words over again, though Jace couldn't make them out. Then Silverspear turned away from them, passing a hand over his face, as if seeing Eve pained him to the core. Past him, the Consul was leaning forward expectantly in his seat, but obviously confused.

The Inquisitor may have been able to her read memories, but Consul Felix apparently could not.

It made Jace a bit relieved, despite everything.

But the feeling was short-lived.

The jury of Silent Brothers at the side seemed to come alive, with a chorus of dreadful sighs that made Jace hold Eve more tightly. They were all staring toward her, with pairs of black pits that once were eyes, and studied her curiously.

_Hmm_, the Brothers mused together. _How very interesting. How very, very interesting… _

"What?" Jace snapped. His throat was dry, making his voice raspy and weaker than he had wanted. "What is interesting?"

To his surprise, it was the Inquisitor that replied. "She is innocent," he said shakily, his back to them still. "Eve is innocent before the Law and the Council. She does not need to be punished."

Jace reeled at that. Hell, even the _Consul_ reeled at _that_.

The Silent Brothers nodded their agreement simultaneously. _Yes, she is innocent_, they said – if someone who did not make noise could speak. _It is so strange. Very strange indeed. We cannot find reason to convict her: She most certainly lived with the Morgensterns, but she has not raised her hand against Downworlder, nor Nephilim, nor mundane…Nor has she been officially authorized into the Circle, because she is still a child... And there is no evidence to suggest that she conformed to any of the ideals of the Circle either…_

Jace stared down at Eve, catching her gaze. "But you said – you told Luke that you were a member of the Circle… You said that –…"

_But you were lying, weren't you?_ Jace thought bitterly. Why would Eve lie about something like that? Did she _want_ to die?

"Then what do we do with her now?" the Consul asked in his repulsive voice.

Inquisitor Silverspear suddenly turned to the jury of Silent Brothers, his eyes begging. "Let her come live with me, Brothers. Let me correct Emile's mistake of giving her away, for his sake. By the Angel, you all know that he regretted it himself. The girl needs a father – a real father – who will protect her."

Eve whispered something, Jace thought, but her face was buried in his neck, and her words became muffled beyond comprehension. Jace lowered his ear to her mouth, listening for the words.

"Don't let them," Eve was whispering. "I don't need a father."

His arms tightened around her.

The jury milled – unaware of her comment – muttering this and that to each other, but no one seemed to come up with a final decision.

_You should not take her in, Argyle_, Brother Dominic finally replied. _We know you were Emile's closest friend, but not many others do. Think of the rumors, Inquisitor: A beautiful young girl with connections to Valentine, walking away from the Council unpunished, only to share a house with the Inquisitor… You can imagine what they will think of you… It would be foolish._

"Then I could take her in," the Consul piped up eagerly. Perhaps a bit _too_ eagerly. He looked at Eve like she was a Christmas present of his that had just arrived early. "She would be safe, and I have enough space for her in my house…And if my reputation is scarred, so be it, if that is what the Inquisitor desires."

Jace snarled at Felix, low, in the back of his throat. "_Don't_," he growled. "_Don't pretend you aren't doing this for yourself_."

The Consul glared at him like an aggravated boar.

Slowly, the Inquisitor turned to Jace again. He didn't look like wanted Eve to go with Felix either, but he looked hopeless, as if there was no other option available. "Do you have another solution, Mr. Herondale? Unless you want her to stay here in a cell with the Brothers, that is."

"She could stay at the Institute in New York," Jace blurted, before he could stop himself.

In reality, it was a horrible idea for her to stay at the Institute. Eve was Jonathan Morgenstern's fiancée – at one point anyway – and Jonathan had killed _Max_. He had _killed_ _Max_. How could Jace explain Eve to the Lightwoods, without them throwing her out onto the streets? Maybe the Inquisitor could help, make them see reason…

After a little more murmurs here and there, the Brothers seemed to agree.

_It is decided, then_, Dominic stated. _Eve is to live at the Institute, until other arrangements are made._

"What other arrangements?" Jace demanded.

"Since her father is dead," Argyle said tightly. "Her mother, Minerva, is technically her legal guardian; But Minerva is… a difficult woman to find. It may take a few weeks before we can locate her and call her back to Idris."

"So Eve is staying at the Institute?" asked Jace.

"As long as the Lightwoods – who are the keepers of the Institute – consent," Felix hissed. He seemed unforgiving of Jace's rebellious behavior before, and he was going to make his life hell because of it. "Which I doubt they will. It was Valentine's son that killed Maxwell Lightwood, if you recall. The Lightwoods will hardly be kind to a girl who was in Valentine's service at the time their boy died."

Eve made a startled noise. Jace glanced down at her face quickly, as her slim fingers gripped the front of his t-shirt forcefully. "That Lightwood boy – Max," she choked. "Jonathan killed him?–" Then her voice broke off.

Jace thought of Ithuriel, the angel that Valentine had imprisoned within the Wayland manor-house. Eve had the same expression of pain. Her lovely gold-flecked eyes seemed to shatter at the news.

Was it possible that she had not known about Max's death?

"We can try, Felix," Silverspear countered. "And as for being in Valentine's service, they cannot complain. They were in the Circle once: and every Downworlder they murdered in the past was someone's child, someone's parent, someone's brother… I am not trying to justify what Jonathan Morgenstern did, but they can not blame Eve. She did not murder Maxwell, nor did she side with it."

The Consul refused to give up. "But –"

"My word is final, Felix," Argyle pronounced, setting his jaw. "Do _not_ try to challenge me. You will lose."

_That_ shut him up.

Within moments, he paled and shrunk back into his chair, utterly silent. Finally, Felix said a short, 'whatever you think is best' to the Inquisitor, and crossed his arms moodily over his torso. Like a two-year-old that was just denied candy.

Eve's hands flattened against his chest. Jace could feel them, softly nudging him away. He glanced at her in confusion and met her solemn eyes. "Please, Jace. Let me stand," she insisted quietly.

And he did; but only after a long moment of hesitation.

Jace rose to his feet first and gave her a hand up: Eve was still shaky, but she set her jaw and held herself well, so he assumed she could stand fine by herself. He still stuck close to her though; just in case he had been somehow, impossibly, wrong, and she needed another daring rescue.

The Inquisitor watched them curiously, his head cocked to the side. "Eve," he asked. "Going to the Institute – is this what you want?"

She glanced at back at Jace, studying his face intently. Then she turned again to the Inquisitor. "Yes. This is what I want."

Argyle nodded shortly, which rustled his tumbled raven hair. "Then we had best be going. Robert and Maryse will want an explanation for this, and I have a feeling this story may take awhile."

Jace let out his breath and cracked a grin, almost weak with relief.

He had been so afraid that Eve wouldn't come out of this interrogation-trail alive; and to think that she had… It was phenomenal. The word phenomenal couldn't even come close to describing it.

Eve's curls became a flurry of gold as she spun around to face him: Her sapphire eyes danced like a child's, and her smile was like that of an angel.

_Beautiful_, he thought.

_She was beautiful._

* * *

**Ah, ha! How horrible of me to leave you with such angst, hmm? What a villan I am! Muahaha! (Valentine: ...)**

**P.S: Review... IF YOU CARE. (*fake-cries in a corner*)**

**Next chapter we'll get to see the Lightwoods, hmm? How interesting... **

**I'll see you all then.**

**Love, Fishie**


	5. Chapter 5: When It Rains

**Hello Everyone!**

**I'm really excited to be updating Eden after such a ridiculously long wait. Thank you so much for your patience!**

**I will try to update as often as I do Morgenstern Girl, from now on... There will be a lot of chapters to follow this one in the near future!**

**So... without any further ado... ON WITH THE CHAPTER! **

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS!**

* * *

Eve climbed into the black interior of the carriage, with the perfect, feminine grace Jace had come to expect from her.

Their journey from the Silent City had been relatively problem-free, he supposed; the Consul, Felix, had only accompanied them long enough to try and strike up a friendly, (all _too_ friendly, Jace noticed), conversation with Eve – and when Inquisitor Silverspear had threatened to send Felix to a hellish, undisclosed dimension if he didn't stop making advances towards her, the Consul had moodily skulked off into oblivion.

The situation suited Jace perfectly: According to his nearly faultless instincts, the Consul was about as trustworthy around Eve as a Drevak demon was around an unsuspecting, defenseless mundane.

The three of them – Jace, Eve, and the Inquisitor – had emerged from the Silent City's ancient passageways minutes later, and Manhattan's familiar sounds and smells had resurfaced. Jace's hand rested gently on the small of Eve's back, guiding her.

It was thundering heavy sheets of rain to the pavement below, and the Inquisitor had ushered them quickly out of the muddy cemetery and onto the sidewalk with the pleasant assurance that a carriage ought to arrive there shortly.

Looking up at him, Jace finally had noticed how giant the Inquisitor really was; Silverspear was an impossibly tall man. Every inch as tall as his father (_Valentine_, Jace reminded himself, _not his father_) had been. But Argyle Silverspear was less imposing, somehow. His looming height was not matched by the hard, broad shoulders or the sharp facial features that Valentine Morgenstern had possessed. Instead, Argyle's unpolished, messy appearance pointed toward a charismatic, trustworthy personality; from the top of his carelessly windswept black hair to the untidy array of his shadowy, Inquisitor robes.

Jace caught Eve studying Silverspear expertly through her lowered eyelashes – just as their promised, fairy-tale carriage pulled up to the curb, drawn by a pair of smoke-black horses – and he quietly wondered exactly what her motives were.

Wordlessly, Eve flicked her long blonde hair behind her back and nodded gratefully as Jace helped her into the carriage's leather interior. Rain had drenched her from head to foot, he saw, turning her loose curls a richer, thicker shade of gold.

Absently, Jace stepped aside, waiting for the Inquisitor to enter into the carriage before he did, a sign of respect for authority – but Silverspear wasn't there when Jace looked. The Inquisitor was preoccupied, his tumbled, raven-haired head bent in conversation with a group of heavily armed Shadowhunters far over by the iron gate of the cemetery. Jace had hardly noticed that the group had been there – or even that the Inquisitor had left his _side_, he realized with some embarrassment.

Just then, Silverspear raised his head. Light from the streetlamps caught at his emerald-green eyes and black hair, making them flash a bizarre, dizzying array of colors in the rain-splattered night – not unlike the way oil shimmered with a rainbow spectrum in the light.

Jace blinked, curious if it was the storming shower that had made the Inquisitor's coloring change so much, or if it was some sort of natural phenomenon for him. But in an instant, the other man's features had returned to normal, and Jace was left to study him in confusion.

"Thank-you for your concern," Silverspear said in a smooth voice, inclining his head to the impressive group of Nephilim surrounding him, "but I doubt that your protection will be necessary, tonight."

The thunderous pounding of the rain seemed to blur his words.

"But Inquisitor," one of them protested in a low voice. His gaze shot suspiciously to the carriage. "That girl –"

"–is no threat to me." Argyle held up a long-boned, quelling hand. He was ridiculously young, for an Inquisitor, Jace recognized. All the Inquisitors before him had been in their late forties at _least_ before being promoted to their rank. It was strange to see someone in their thirties holding the same position. "Forgive me, my brothers, but this is an order: I will be travelling with Eve to the Institute alone, without the aid of your forces… I'm hoping to bring the girl to the Lightwoods in peace – to convince them that she is no danger to them… How can I expect the Guardians of the Institute to believe Eve is harmless if I bring her to them with a fleet of soldiers standing guard?" A smile curled the Inquisitor's mouth. "And besides, I am not alone," he added wryly, raising his voice even louder to speak to Jace. "Am I, Mr. Herondale?"

Jace glanced upward at Silverspear, willing to say anything that would get him out of the pounding torrents of rain. He felt like he'd stepped into a shower – half an hour after all the hot water had run out. It wasn't a particularly pleasant experience.

"No, Inquisitor," he agreed. Rain tumbled off the ends of Jace's hair whenever he moved, threading down his face like misplaced tears.

Silverspear smiled at him. It was like they had been friends for decades.

"Thank you, Mr. Herondale," he replied gently. With an elegant swirl of his black robes, the Inquisitor turned and addressed the surrounding group of Nephilim briefly. "As you can see, I am certainly well protected… Unless any of you can find fault in Mr. Herondale's reputation for dutiful service… especially in regards to important matters of the Clave?"

No one uttered a syllable, seemingly lost for words.

Satisfied, the Inquisitor turned and strode back to their waiting carriage. "Good," he answered, swinging up into the dark, leather cab. "Our business here is finished."

After a last, smirking glance at the brooding group of men, Jace followed the Inquisitor up into the carriage, shutting the cab door behind them.

"How did you know?" the Inquisitor asked, breaking the silence in the carriage.

* * *

The ride to the Institute had been an odious one, with nothing to cut the tension between the three of them but the occasional lunge from the carriage as it passed over an unsuspecting automobile. Jace had watched, arms crossed, as Eve had spent the time gazing out the port-like window beside her, barely noticing the jolting motion of the carriage – and had also watched as the Inquisitor had spent the time staring pointedly at Eve. Like she was an unsolvable puzzle.

Eve raised her blonde head as Silverspear posed the question, looking like she had just been pulled out of a dream. "_Hmm_?" she replied.

"I want to know how you guessed," he explained patiently, "that my powers as a Brother were limited."

Eve's expression changed. The dream-like look faded from her eyes, and a calculating soberness surfaced in her eyes. The expression was one that Jace didn't particularly like. Probably because it reminded him of Valentine.

"It was a simple prediction," she told Argyle evenly. "I knew that you had been given all training as a Silent Brother – but that you still needed to perform the Initiation in order to officially become one of the Brotherhood… It wasn't much of a stretch to assume that you had limits to your abilities…" She gave him a piercing look. "And apparently, I was right, considering that you asked me that question."

The Inquisitor pondered over that for a moment.

"What do you mean 'limits'?" Jace wondered in a slow, quiet voice, entering the conversation. "…I thought that you _went_ through her mind already."

"I _mean_," Silverspear clarified gently, not glancing at Jace, "that I am not a full-fledged Silent Brother. It is possible to conceal certain memories from me, if the person interrogated has enough power of will to resist." He tilted his head to the side, regarding Eve with curiosity. "And I'd like to know what you kept from me, Eve."

"Are you still afraid that I am guilty?"

"No." Argyle settled back into his seat. "If you were guilty, the other Brothers would know about it… I'm just curious. Whatever you kept back, it was _specifically_ kept from me. And I want to know why."

Eve shrugged her shoulders elegantly.

"Memories are communal things, don't you think?" she murmured thoughtfully. "You create memories with _other_ _people_… Perhaps I thought that those memories weren't mine to share?"

"You are an awful liar – like your father." With a soft smile, the Inquisitor leaned forward in his seat. "You told Lucian Greymark that you committed a host of crimes for the Circle; that you aided Jonathan Morgenstern in bringing down Alicante's Wards, which was all untrue." Slowly, the Inquisitor's fatherly smile widened. "You made yourself out to be a bigger criminal than you were – because you knew that if you were a high-risk convict, the Clave would notify _me_ about it… You were looking for _me_ all along, weren't you, Eve? And I doubt that you went through all that work to hide memories from me."

In an instant, Eve's sober expression dissolved into humor.

"Well-deduced," she replied, returning Argyle's smile indulgently. "It is true… I was searching for you… But with deductive abilities like yours, I'm sure you've already _guessed_ what I was hiding from you, during the interrogation."

Argyle's green eyes glittered. "That is where you are wrong."

"How unfortunate." Eve turned back to the window, watching the rain thread down the pane. Her smile faded a bit, in concentration. "I will tell you what I'm keeping from you, Mr. Silverspear, when I feel you deserve to hear it; I want to see what kind of man you are, first."

That answer didn't seem to upset Argyle as much as Jace thought it would. The Inquisitor took the response with a little smile and a shrug.

"I'm not in a rush," he told her patiently.

"Good," replied Eve. "You may have to wait for awhile."

Inquisitor Silverspear chuckled to himself, for a moment – clearly amused by her answer – and then he quietly redirected his gaze to the same window that Eve was staring through. His mind seemed to be on other things… Possibly, Jace thought, on how he was going to explain Eve's past to the Lightwoods without World War III breaking out.

Jace had been thinking about it himself: after all, Eve had been engaged to Jonathan Morgenstern.

Jonathan Morgenstern who was Valentine's son.

Jonathan Morgenstern who had taken down Alicante's Wards.

Jonathan Morgenstern who had killed Max.

Nothing – not even the fact that Jonathan was _dead_ – could take away any of those things… Jace had no idea if the Lightwoods would pity Eve or despise her for her involvement with the Morgensterns.

A sudden jolt lurched the carriage, and Jace forgot his thoughts. He braced himself, fully expecting the cab to pitch one way or another as they drove over another mundane vehicle, but he was surprised when no movement followed – that the lurch was because they had stopped, not because they were moving.

Traffic rumbled past them, like the growling of a pack of wolves.

Outside the window, Jace saw the familiar doorway of the Institute hovering just in front of them like a judgment. Light snuck out from the windows hanging above them, glowing on the pavement below, and Jace could almost imagine Maryse's slender, anxious form pacing in one of those windows – anticipating him to come home.

Everyone must have been awaiting their arrival, Jace supposed.

With an almost imperceptible sigh, Argyle opened the carriage and moved to step out of the cab – and then he suddenly stumbled forward and disappeared from view.

Jace glanced quickly at Eve, and saw her blue eyes widen in astonishment.

They both sprung into action, faster than lightening, diving toward the door – but before either of them could really move to go and help him, the Inquisitor popped up into view. He righted himself with a sheepish smile, and scratched his black hair self-consciously.

"Whoops, sorry about that," he offered ruefully, waving away their expressions of concern. "I'm alright, I'm alright."

Jace rolled his eyes at Silverspear's apparent lack of coordination, and then glanced at Eve.

She was flabbergasted, gaping at the Inquisitor as if he had just reappeared wearing a chicken suit.

Jace had to smile at her look of total horror.

"Did – did you – Did you just _trip__ out of the __carriage_?" she sputtered, almost angrily.

Argyle chuckled nervously. "I suppose I did," he mused, not seeming fazed.

Without another word, the Inquisitor turned and glided to the door of the Institute, looking for all the world like nothing had just happened.

Eve's jaw dropped.

Jace swung out of the carriage – _gracefully_ – unlike Argyle had. He looked up at Eve, offering his arm in case she needed help to get down – and was amused to see that she was still exactly where she had been a minute before, blinking, dumbfounded, in the direction of the Inquisitor.

"He – he _tripped_ –" she stammered. "… out of… the _carriage!_…Who trips out of a _carriage_?"

Jace grinned.

"Come on, princess," Jace instructed. "Out of the carriage."

Eve took his hand and stepped down from the cab as elegantly as a flower petal, still astonished beyond speech. Although Jace found humor in seeing her reaction, he supposed that he understood it. After all, Eve had been raised by _Valentine_ _Morgenstern_; and Jace knew all too well that the Circle's infamous leader would _never_ be found _tripping_ out of any carriage, under ANY circumstance – not even if he was dying in the process.

Soft words flowed from Eve's lips, under her breath, and it took Jace a minute to fully realize what she was saying. "Jada," he heard Eve muttering at a whisper, shaking her blonde head in disapproval. "What in the world were you _thinking_?"

_Jada?_ Jace wondered silently, not asking the question out-loud. _He had never heard anything about a __Jada__…_

Wordlessly, Jace trailed after the Inquisitor, who had knocked on the Institute door, and Eve naturally fell in step behind him. With a squeal of hinges, the grand set of mahogany doors pushed opened for Argyle, revealing the cathedral-like entrance of the Institute. Candles lit the entry, and framed Inquisitor Silverspear's tall figure with a flickering army of tiny flames.

Argyle turned to face them, his expression sympathetic. "Are you ready to come, now, Eve?"

A grave air accompanied the Inquisitor's words. It occurred to Jace that so much more was meant in the question than simply – 'do you want to go inside the Institute?' His question asked – 'Are you really sure you'd like this place in the Clave? Are you truly ready to give up ties to the Circle? Is this _really_ what you want?'

Jace revolved slightly and glanced at Eve. Her angelic face was set, resolute.

"Yes," she replied, nodding. "I think I am ready."

Both the Inquisitor and Jace turned back around, satisfied with her response, gliding quickly towards the foyer to get out of the rain – and then Jace heard a noise which made him stop and spin around. _Fast_.

The chaotic thrashing of wings rang in his ears.

Eve cried out.

Jace whirled around, only in time to see Eve with her pale arms up defensively, protecting her face from what looked like whipping flash of silver. In an instant, though, the ordeal was over. Jace was faintly aware of the Inquisitor's voice, calling Eve's name in alarm, and then the slight, silver creature took off, soaring up into the night with an irritable caw. It flew into the blackened, rainy, night sky – looking like the soft grey moon, hurling through the heavens. When it spread its wings, it looked about the size of a large, incorrectly-colored raven.

Nevertheless, it had been a bird.

Eve's forearms were lashed with narrow, shallow cuts when she finally dropped them, probably from the bird's claws; they oozed a thin trickling of blood.

What surprised Jace was the expression on her face – not surprised, anxious, or distraught – no; she was stony, calm, level-headed, glaring up at the sky where their violent, feathered friend had disappeared into. Her jaw was as tight as the string of a bow.

Jace thought he could still see the bird where it had landed on – what exactly had it landed on? …A decorative statue on one of the buildings? A pale stone ledge?

Jace couldn't tell, for certain. All he knew was that the bird had landed somewhere high, on top of one of the adjacent buildings – so far away that it was all but invisible to the naked eye. He also knew that the bird had settled on a perch so pale that it looked like it had been carved from an arm of marble.

The rain was too thick to make out any other details. Even _with_ his clairvoyant senses, Jace realized.

Inquisitor Silverspear was at Eve's side before Jace could blink twice, inspecting her slender arms for damage. She kept her gaze glued to where the bird had landed. Jace wondered if she could see something that _he_ couldn't.

"What in the hell was that?" Jace demanded at no one in particular, sounding a little breathless.

Eve's pretty lips hardened into a frown. "I have no idea," she replied cooly, her eyes not wavering. "It must have been some sort of crazy pigeon."

The image of the bird resurfaced in Jace's mind.

The animal had been twice the size of any pigeon _Jace_ had ever seen before… Besides, he had lived in New York for _years_ – and no pigeon had ever outright attacked _him_ during that time…

Argyle held her wrists gently, glaring in the same direction that Eve was. In the street-light, the Inquisitor's profile was sharp and dramatic – his hair and eyes flashing that strange rainbow-color again.

Worry glinted in his eyes like jagged, emerald chips.

"Come," he beckoned in a falsely sunny voice, prying his gaze from the speck of silver bird. "Eve's wounds will heal any second. I'm sure that was nothing more than a freak coincident… We all need to get out of this weather."

Eve didn't reply.

She stared into the distance, rain streaming icily down her cheeks.

It wasn't until Argyle had tugged softly on Eve's arms that she had finally listened to him, snapping out of her reverie. Without a sound of protest, she let the Inquisitor turn her around and lead her into the foyer, but she hesitantly glanced over her shoulder every few seconds, looking toward the top of the building in front of them.

Jace took up the rear, and was unutterably grateful to finally make it into the familiar, warm entryway. He turned to close the doors, squinted up to where the bird had been – but still he could see nothing there. Nothing but the blackness of night.

Shaking his blonde head, Jace shut the mahogany doors behind them, blocking out the darkness with a screech of hinges.

* * *

Angry.

He was angry.

And he was impatient… Yes, he was _that_ too…

He had followed their carriage all the way from the entrance to the Silent City to the front steps of the Institute, the rain pounding all over him like a heavy curtain of ice during every moment, every step… He had watched them as they had exited the Silent City, even _before_ they had exited the cemetery, _before_ the carriage…

Memory came and resurfaced like gasoline, igniting the flicker of his rage to an uncontrollable inferno.

The Angel-boy had been touching Her in the cemetery, he recalled with a inhuman growl.

He'd put his filthy, despicable Angel-hand on Her back.

Rigidly, his rain-drenched hands tightened into stony fists. He shook his head, dispelling the thought.

No, he realized, calming himself a bit.

No, it wasn't Her back.

It was _his_ back.

The Angel-boy had put his hand on _his_ back.

After all, She belonged to him; mind, body, _and_ soul; She had been conceived, born and raised to be with him. All that She was – all that the _possessed_ – was simply an extension of himself.

He _owned_ Her. Every part of Her.

So the Angel-boy had merely touched a piece of himself.

But that remained enough to make him want to grab that Boy by his Angel-blonde hair and slowly choke the life out of him. That Angel-boy had no right to go near him, no right to go near Her.

Still thinking about the Angel-boy, he shifted his crouched position slightly, stretching his impatient, aching limbs. That silver bird on his shoulder – _Munin_ – took off with a screech, diving into the star-less sky. The displaced air rustled his white hair.

_Hugin_, the shadow-colored bird, stayed perched to his other shoulder, gazing at him with beady black eyes much like his own.

He couldn't decide whether he wanted to reward the raven for staying, or wring its skinny neck for amusement.

He chose neither, and instead glared up into the pitch dark clouds and the vicious rain water that poured from them.

No, that Angel-boy had no business with him, he finally decided. And certainly no business with Her.

She was _his_, after all. She was him.

Maybe if she had been an Angel-girl, like she had been before – maybe then that Boy might have had some sort of claim on Her…

But She was his. She was him.

And she was no angel. Not any more.

With a sudden fierceness, he rose to his feet, swatting the raven off his shoulder, savagely. The bird exploded into flight with a flash of black feathers and a livid squawk, following Munin off into the dark. Rain tumbled off his slicked, transparent clothes as he stood over the edge – almost as if he were a rain-cloud himself.

He could look down and see the mundane vehicles scuttling along the road like pathetic, dark specks below. Like tiny ants.

He wondered if it would kill him to step off the edge of the building, to plummet down to the pavement miles below.

Nothing, it seemed, could ever kill him.

He was invincible.

His father had tried to make Her into an Angel-girl. But it hadn't worked. And now his father was dead.

Destiny had kept Her with him, tied Her to him.

She was his. She was him.

She was a Morgenstern – not an Angel.

She was his Morgenstern Girl.

Slowly, Jonathan Morgenstern smiled, turned, and pried away his gaze from the New York Institute

* * *

**So... What did you think? Was it worth the wait?**

**For those of you who read Morgenstern Girl, you will understand the Jada reference... but for those who don't read Morgenstern Girl, you will hear more about her later, don't worry!**

**I'll update ASAP!**

**Love, Fishie.**


	6. Chapter 6: Secrets

**Hello readers!**

**I finally updated Eden! Yay! **

**The action is really going to start to heat up in this story, so you will not be bored in the next chapters coming up, I promise! Oh, it's so exciting!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mortal Instruments!**

* * *

"I don't know about this, Jace," Alec muttered, his arms crossed anxiously over his chest. "Maybe this is just a _really_ bad idea. How can you be sure she's not… bad?"

Jace glanced at his _parabatai_, wanting to convince him that it _wasn't_ such a crazy idea – that Eve wasn't '_bad'_ – but he was feeling, for once, very lost for words.

Eve had been ushered into the Institute as quickly as possible when they had arrived, but Alec, Maryse, and Robert had been the only Lightwoods there. Isabelle had been mysteriously absent – although Alec had mentioned that his sister was rushing home as soon as possible – and before Jace could have gotten two words of introduction in with the rest of the Lightwoods, Inquisitor Silverspear had swept Eve into a private meeting with Maryse and Robert – and Jace had been left to explain Eve's whole situation to Alec _without_ the help of the Inquisitor.

The story hadn't been a pleasant one for Alec to hear – Jace could tell.

At every mention of the Morgensterns, and Jonathan Morgenstern especially, the muscles of Alec's shoulders had noticeably tightened, and for good reason. It had been just over six months since Max had died, and all the emotional wounds were still raw. But even so, Alec had been patient with Jace, letting him finish Eve's story without interruption. It was a better reaction than Jace had expected from him – but all of the questions were going to come out now, Jace was sure – and from the looks of it, Alec had a lot of them.

"The Inquisitor and the Silent Brothers all say that she's done nothing that infringes on the Law or the Covenant, Alec. If she had, they would have taken her to Alicante right away for a full trial in front of the Council, if not to a cell in the Silent City," Jace replied.

"So what am I supposed to believe, then?" Alec demanded, his blue eyes shooting ice. "That she was just at the wrong place at the wrong time? That she just _happened_ to be living with the Morgensterns when – when everything happened at Alicante?"

"They went through her memories, Alec." Jace tried to sound convincing and only half-succeeded. He was too tired. The night had drained him. "If it wasn't true, the Brothers and the Inquisitor would have seen it for themselves."

A frown flickered across Alec's mouth. "The Brothers could have been wrong. What if there was some sort of block on her memories – or maybe her mind was tampered with –"

"They would have sensed that too. And the only thing that could put a block that strong on her mind would have been a warlock. And I doubt that Valentine would have trusted a Downworlder with his son's precious fiancée."

Silence stretched out; and then Alec sighed.

"Could you explain that again?" Alec put in, rubbing his temples tiredly. "About why Valentine wanted her to marry Jonathan?"

Jace sighed. "Jonathan had Demon blood in him. Eve has Angel blood in her. Demon father plus Angel mother equals Nephilim super-warrior baby for Valentine without Jonathan's bad attitude."

"Right." The eldest Lightwood son looked drawn as he moved across the room and sat down in an armchair by the fireplace. His black hair fell over his forehead, hiding his sapphire-colored eyes from Jace's sight. There was a long, withering pause between the two _parabatai_, one that seemed to go on for hours. "Do you think –" Alec finally added, "never mind. It doesn't really matter, I guess."

Jace stretched his fingers. "Do I think what?" he asked.

"That Eve really loved him. Jonathan, I mean… Or do you think she was forced into it?"

Jace pondered on the question for a moment and shook his head thoughtfully. "I don't know. I can't really tell. But I don't think Valentine gave her much of a choice, either way. Valentine wanted her to have Jonathan's child. That was all she was good for to him, in the end. He wouldn't have allowed her to _not_ love him."

"I guess not." Alec raised his dark head and peered at the old, grandfather clock in the corner of the room. "They've been in there for almost an hour," he said, gesturing to the room where the Inquisitor and his parents were. "Do you think everything is alright?"

Jace looked, but at that exact moment, the doors squealed open and the Lightwood parents appeared in the doorway. Both the tall and narrow Maryse and the broad, imposing Robert looked profoundly exhausted, but Inquisitor Silverspear appeared optimistic as he followed behind them with Eve. His pine-green eyes were glittering victoriously.

"It's been decided," Argyle announced, looking between Jace and Alec. "Eve will be remaining here at the Institute until her mother is located."

Despite it all, Jace was relieved: relieved in a way that was too profound and difficult to express. As long as Eve was around him, he knew she would be safe. He _would_ keep her safe.

Eve aimed a little smile at him, which he returned, but Alec just scowled at her. "And how long will it be," Alec inquired icily, "until she leaves?"

Jace watched Eve's smile dissolve. She dropped her blue eyes to her toes.

"A week," Argyle replied, placing his hand affectionately on Eve's shoulder. "Perhaps a little longer. But there are other matters of Clave business that need to be attended to while Eve is here. I can assure you, Alexander, the time will pass very quickly."

"Other matters?" Jace inquired. Even though he understood Alec's suspicions of Eve, he still had to fight the urge to kick his best friend savagely in the ankle. "What kind of other matters?"

"Skill testing, for one thing," Argyle replied with a shrug of his narrow shoulders. "The Consul is curious as to what extent her abilities are, so he can bring proof of it to the Council… I tried to tell him that the Silent Brothers and I already _know_ how well she can fight… We saw it in her memories… but unfortunately, the Consul is a higher authority than I am. He has required skill testing… The assessments will begin tomorrow."

It was hard for Jace to imagine that the Consul was more powerful than Argyle Silverspear. Although he mentally knew the fact, he could not place Felix's weaseling, powerless attitude above the confidence and natural leadership abilities of the Inquisitor. "I will be here tomorrow as a witness for the Council," Argyle added, and Eve relaxed ever so slightly. "So there ought to be no issues, in that regard… I will be seeing you first thing in the morning." The Inquisitor turned and strode halfway across the room until he turned around, realization lighting his pine-green eyes. "Oh, and one last order of business…" The Inquisitor held out his pale, slender hand to Eve, expectantly. "I'm going to need your bag, Eve. To perform an inspection of your belongings."

To Jace's, and everyone else's surprise, Eve grinned.

She shrugged off the bulky satchel and put the strap in Argyle's palm, giving it over easily. But as soon as Argyle got ahold of its full weight, he frowned thoughtfully. He raised and lowered his arm as if the bag weighed so much as air, even though it appeared to be filled to capacity and looked about as heavy as Eve herself. Even though Jace had _seen_ Eve strain under the bag's weight…

In a single motion, the Inquisitor pulled at the drawstring, letting the top of the bag fall open as Jace and the Lightwoods looked on curiously. "It's empty…" Argyle began – and then he glanced at Eve and smirked as well. Understanding flickered across his face like a flame. "Ah… A very clever girl. It is enchanted, isn't it?"

Slowly, Eve's smile widened.

"Enchanted?" Maryse echoed. "What do you mean?"

As if to explain, Argyle flipped the bag upside down, and nothing spilled out of it. Not even a speck of dust. Alec squinted at it, suspiciously.

"To the unsuspecting onlooker," the Inquisitor explained, "it is an empty, unimpressive satchel. But once in the hands of the owner it is tied to…" He quickly tied the drawstring and held out his hand, the bag's strap dangling on his fingers. Eve reached out compliantly, seeming to understand his movements, and gripped the strap beside Argyle's hand. Immediately, the Inquisitor's muscles tensed and the bag dropped an inch lower to the floor, as if it had suddenly been filled with bricks. "Its contents are accessible. Very helpful when carrying important objects of high personal value, or when transporting items of a less than innocent nature: it ensures they will never be found or stolen… It's nothing the Silent Brothers have not dealt with before, of course… although enchantments like these are sometimes very difficult to take apart," he added, glancing at Eve. "I just certainly hope for your sake, Ms. Riversend, that the Clave will find nothing in here that they could consider questionable."

Eve's expression was as cool as stream water. "Well, they will know soon enough, won't they?" she replied timidly, withdrawing her hand. Argyle folded the seemingly empty canvas bag over his arm with a smile and turned to the door. But someone burst through it before he could take a single step.

"I got takeout!" a familiar voice called. Without much warning, Alec's sister Isabelle flounced through the doorway, wearing a black, knee-length trench-coat and a matching pair of high heels. She held up a pale, nondescript paper bag in one hand, which made for a startling contrast against her ink-colored clothes and hair. "I thought you'd all be hungry since Mom isn't here to cook, so I stopped by Taki's and –"

All of a sudden, she finally seemed to take in her surroundings. Everyone was staring at her: Maryse and Robert looked mildly embarrassed, Alec looked exhausted, and the Inquisitor just looked supremely amused.

"Sorry, did I miss something?" she asked, blinking at each of them in turn. "Alec just texted me to come home about an hour ago and I…"

"That's alright Isabelle," Maryse replied, crossing her slender arms. "I'm sure everyone would appreciate takeout."

"Take… out?" Eve repeated quietly, staring at Isabelle. She looked confused, as if the word was a foreign language to her – but there was something more to the way Eve looked at Isabelle – as if the Lightwood's only daughter was somehow familiar to her.

Maryse gave Eve a quick look, as if she had seen this moment before. Suddenly, the Lightwoods' mother glanced away from Eve with the tiniest of smiles, and Jace had to chuckle. He could imagine he had been much the same when he had come to the Institute: ten years old, questioning every little thing that differed from what he was used to.

The Inquisitor stepped aside, giving Isabelle a full view of their newest, blonde addition. "Miss Lightwood, meet Eve Riversend," Argyle told her. "Your parents have agreed to take her in under Clave protection, for a week or so, until we can arrange other living arrangements for her."

Isabelle stared at Eve, her expression unreadable.

"She may need to borrow some of your old clothes until tomorrow," Maryse began, tentatively. "Unless it bothers you, of course –"

"No – please," Eve cut in, her blue eyes wide. Even from the distance, Jace could see the flecks of gold dancing in her irises. "You are already being so generous, Mrs. Lightwood –"

"By the _Angel_," Isabelle finally breathed. Everyone glanced at her, unsure of how the sentence would end. But when Isabelle looked up again, her face was bright with enthusiasm. "It's about _time_ we got another girl here!" Isabelle finished animatedly. "Are you sure she's not a Mundie? She barely has any Marks."

Argyle grinned. "No, Miss Lightwood… If anything, she is more Nephilim than the rest of us."

Isabelle, for whatever reason, ignored that comment; her dark eyes studied Eve industriously, her hands on her hips. "She looks just like a _Barbie_-_doll_. Where in the world did you find a girl like this?"

Eve blinked again. "Bar-bie doll?"

Jace looked at the floor, trying to hide the fact that he was grinning. Beside him, Alec was fuming.

"And who are _you_?" Isabelle inquired, glancing at Argyle. "I've never seen _you_ before."

Silverspear's smile widened. "I am the Inquisitor, Miss Lightwood."

"Oh." If Isabelle was supposed to be taken aback by that response, she wasn't. She tilted her head to the side like a curious bird. "You're kind of cute, for an Inquisitor… I thought Clave officials were supposed to be older."

Maryse and Eve both gaped at her.

Argyle laughed.

"Isabelle!" her mother admonished her. "That is not –"

"Isabelle."

The new voice that broke into the conversation was low, bassy, and carried a sense of finality. Jace watched as Robert Lightwood stepped forward, his massive frame blocking the doorway behind him. At the sound of her name in his mouth, Isabelle immediately stopped.

Everyone went silent.

"Thank-you, Inquisitor Silverspear, for all you've done," Robert said, finishing the conversation, inclining his head to Argyle.

The Inquisitor nodded in reply. His green eyes were suddenly grave. "It is _you_ I need to thank, Robert," he answered. "You are doing me a kind favor, by extending your hospitality like this."

The Lightwoods' father shrugged his massive shoulders. He was well-tempered even at the worst of times, Jace knew – but Robert was a man of few words. His voice was gruff as he murmured a short, "She's Emile's daughter," and fell back into remote silence.

There was a moment where everyone stood still, then Argyle gave one last lingering look at Eve and turned to the door. "I will be seeing you at sunrise, tomorrow, Eve," he told her over his shoulder. Light caught his hair and eyes again, turning them that dizzying rainbow of color – like the way a crow's feather caught color in the sunlight.

"And Eve?" he added, his expression somber. Their gazes locked for a long moment, and both pairs of eyes shared a secret, grim, and almost telepathic understanding. For a split second, Jace remembered the silver bird from before, flashing like the moon, clawing Eve's fragile arms with its talons. "Stay safe."

* * *

In the end, Isabelle dropped the takeout off in the kitchen, was about to eat, and then her parents yanked her unwillingly into the Library for an emergency debriefing on the 'situation'. This left Jace and Alec to fend for themselves for dinner – and it also left them both to watch over Eve. But Alec took his designated white box, moodily sulked off to his bedroom without a second glance back, and Jace and Eve were quickly left alone with each other.

"And then there were two," Jace murmured into the paper bag.

Eve watched Alec go with a miserable expression.

"He hates me," Eve stated. "And there is nothing I can do to make him hate me any less."

Jace glanced at her, wondering if she was thinking of Max; her words certainly _seemed_ genuine.

"He doesn't hate you," Jace commented, pulling out his own box of takeout. The delicious, overwhelming aroma of pasta and garlic and tomato sauce came along with it, and his stomach groaned. "He's just suspicious of you. A not-so-surprising reaction considering your fiancée murdered his brother six months ago."

Wincing, Eve turned her face away from where Alec had gone. Jace watched as she crossed her pale arms over her chest and shivered.

He had only just begun to feel a tiny bit of pity for her as he grabbed a fork and started out of the gleaming, stainless-steel-riddled kitchen. "Come on," Jace muttered, beckoning her along. "It's late. And I have no idea how long Maryse and Robert will take with Isabelle."

With an obedient nod, Eve followed him through the Institute's long corridors.

It only took a minute or so until they came to Jace's bedroom, and he shoved the door open with his shoulder. Eve had quietly filed in the room behind him as he flicked on the light, looking vulnerable without her massive bag of precious belongings. Setting the takeout and the fork on his dresser, Jace opened a drawer and began searching for a t-shirt for Eve to wear. It wasn't the ideal sleepwear for her, he assumed; but it was the best he could do until she got her clothes back from Argyle in the morning.

"When was the last time you ate?" Jace asked her, finding a plain black shirt that seemed to fit his purposes. When he finally glanced upwards, though, he simultaneously heard a clatching noise, and saw that Eve was at his bedroom door and had closed it, her hand guarding the handle like a sentinel. A flower of apprehension blossomed in Jace's chest. Something dark and volatile was glinting in her blue eyes, something very unlike her innocent, angelic outward appearance. His fingers brushed against a cold, smooth object that was tucked into the corner of his drawer – a dagger, the Herondale dagger; Amatis had given it to him, along with the rest of his blood father's belongings, back in Alicante – and it offered Jace the smallest bit of reassurance. Expertly, Eve eyes flicked to his window, flashing gold. The window was shut, like his door, and the blinds were drawn across the glass. The sight seemed to please her, and she returned her gaze to him.

Jace shivered, inexplicably.

Without any warning, Eve did the unpredicted. Instead of hurling herself at him, attacking him, throwing him down – she simply walked over to his desk, put her left foot on the desk's chair and hiked her short dress high – all the way up her leg. Jace blinked and almost turned his face away, but what he had anticipated to be Eve's pale white skin was not that at all. Half the length of her thigh was a tight, impeccably fitted, black leather sheath. There was a vicious-looking knife strapped into the front of her leg, right beside a stele, and a mysterious pocket took up the space on the inside of her thigh. It was that pocket Eve reached for, flicking it open with her thumb.

"Wow." Jace made himself grin at her, trying to maintain composure. "Usually girls make me take them out for _dinner_ first before they rip off their clothes in my bedroom."

Eve, fumbling in her pocket, ignored that comment. A moment later she pulled out something black and rectangular – if Jace hadn't been looking too closely, he might have thought it was a wallet – but he _was_ looking closely, and it was a bit too long, and _far_ too thick, to be a regular wallet. Taking her stele, Eve wrote a single Rune on the face of the wallet-looking object – Jace couldn't be entirely sure which Rune it was, from the distance between them – and then she scrawled a word overtop the design in elegant handwriting: it almost looked like Valentine's writing, Jace thought with a jolt of surprise, although that was far from possible – this was Eve in front of him, not Valentine. Then he saw the word and the Rune flare to a brilliant golden light, and he caught a glimpse of the signature, then: albeit only the last four letters: _R-I-E-R_.

A French name, perhaps? Although it made no sense that Eve would forge Valentine's writing to scratch out a _French_ _name_… Either way, the object in her hand responded to the strange combination of script. There was the smallest of clicks, and then the wallet opened for Eve. She flipped through its contents quickly, critically, marking every tiny detail. It was then that Jace saw what was inside the wallet: the leather binding was full of clear, plastic pages, holding the most unexpected thing of all.

Credit cards.

Flashy gold and black credit cards.

There must have been over thirty of them.

Eve clapped the wallet shut then, and, with a skilled tap of her stele, returned it to her thigh sheath. Then she unceremoniously reached into the neckline of her dress and pulled something glittering and silver out of her bra.

Jace fought the urge to laugh – it was so unlike her – until he saw what she'd pulled out.

It was a long, platinum-colored chain – and swinging on the end of that chain like a clock's pendulum, was the Morgenstern family ring. It was easily identifiable, what with the engraved 'M' and the pattern of stars. That same ring was hung around Clary's neck, and Jace could feel it almost as vividly as if it was pressed against his own heart.

Eve sighed and tucked the necklace back down her dress, as if the mixture of it and the wallet was vital to her.

Jace squinted in Eve's direction. "Is there anything else on you that I should know about?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at her. "Because I have a feeling Argyle Silverspear knows nothing about those two things."

She barely glanced at him. "He does know – about the ring, at least."

"And that wallet-thing – that was one of the memories you kept from him, I suppose?"

"I had to," Eve replied. Her eyes burned with a strange sacrificial light. "I took that from someone – someone close to me. It is best if Argyle doesn't know who. There are some things it would hurt him too much to know."

"Is it Jada?" Jace inquired, recalling the name Eve had said before.

He watched her cheeks flush white with alarm, and knew he had been correct. "How did you –?"

"You said the name before… Just outside the Institute."

Her eyes widened in recollection. And panic.

"Don't tell Argyle," she pleaded. All of a sudden, her former confidence was gone. "I can't – If you even say the _name_ –"

"Who is she?"

She looked like a doe, Jace thought. Maybe it was just her eyes. Eve looked ready to respond – and choked on the words. "I can't –"

"Tell me," Jace answered. "Or I will go to Argyle Silverspear and ask him myself."

Her jaw tightened. "You mustn't say a word to anyone. Not a soul."

"That shouldn't be a problem."

She stared behind him at the wall. Her gaze was distant, as if she was skimming through time. "Jada was my tutor, back when I lived with Valentine… She had been a good friend of Argyle's once, many years before she met Valentine. I can't imagine telling Argyle that she was as closely related with Valentine Morgenstern and the Circle as she was. It would destroy her if he knew."

_Eve had a tutor?_

The thought kind of fit in Jace's mind… A picture of an older, matronly lady with a harsh tongue and a strict personality to match formed in his mind. He could almost anticipate who the tutor would be – much like the old Inquisitor, his grandmother – Imogen Herondale; all old age and sharp angles. Yes, it certainly sounded like someone Valentine would employ to keep an eye on Eve. But what sort of relationship could she have possibly had with the Inquisitor? A mother-figure, maybe?

"Here," he said, offering her his t-shirt and the unopened takeout box. "You need to eat something."

She wrinkled her nose suspiciously at it. "What is it?"

"Food," he told her. "Delicious food, in fact."

Eve wasn't convinced. "I don't know if I trust eating something that comes out of a cardboard box."

"Oh, don't be such a snob," Jace replied, shoving the box and the shirt in her arms. "Some of the best things in life come out of cardboard boxes: like Twinkies and homeless people."

A wry smile curled her lips. It felt like that smile brought the brightness of the afternoon sun with it. "That is disgusting," she replied. "Homeless people aren't fit for human consumption."

"Don't worry. Neither should be Twinkies."

Her smile widened, and she took the items he gave her, gratefully. "Thank-you, Jace, for your kindness toward me," she murmured quietly. "You convinced the Lightwoods to let me stay here; you did not leave me in the Silent City… But Max… This Max-boy was _your_ brother, too." She looked miserable. "You deserve to hate and distrust me as much as Alec does."

He thought about that for a moment, looking at his toes.

"I'm not the _only_ trusting person, here… You know I didn't swear on the Angel," he finally commented, "when you told me about your tutor, Jada. You know my word technically means nothing without that oath, but you told me about her anyway."

Eve stared him squarely in the eye.

Her eyes were old eyes, he thought – even though they were placed in a youthful, unlined face. She looked like she had lived though many lifetimes and many, _many_ more sorrows than any person had right to see.

"Well," she began, glancing away from him. "I hope that neither of us let all this trust go to waste."

* * *

**What did you think? **

**This chapter is more of an emotional kind of vibe still, but everything is going to change with the skill testing and onward... Did those of you who read The Morgenstern Girl like the description of the tutor Jace gave? I almost fell off my chair laughing when I wrote that... Everyone is going to be in for a little shock...**

**P.S: Thank you for reading and reviewing; it makes me so happy!**

**Until next time!**

**Love, Fishie.**


	7. Chapter 7: The Examination

**Hello readers!**

**I apologize for my excruciatingly long hiatus from writing, but I am back now! Hopefully the long chapter will make up for your wait!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments!**

* * *

She bit her lip, carefully observing her brother as he trudged up the steps in front of her.

He was in a particularly sullen mood – Alec that was – but Isabelle could not find the energy to be amused by his poor attitude. She kept trying to glance at the Eve girl, wondering what she was thinking, but it was impossible to stare too closely. The Inquisitor, Argyle Silverspear, was directly behind the blonde, and his looming, black-robed height totally blocked her from sight. Of course, this had been the perfect opportunity for Isabelle to study _him_, as well. But as good looking as the Inquisitor was – and he _was_ pretty good looking, just to clarify – her heart wasn't entirely in _that_ either.

Though her eyes _had_ drifted to Silverspear's hair every so often, she had to admit; sometimes it was flat black, and other times, when the morning sunlight caught at it the right way, his messy hair turned a beautiful spectrum of color.

But as for the Eve-girl, she had remained almost totally out of sight since she had arrived last night.

The only person who she had seemed to let see her so far was Jace, and in Isabelle's humble opinion, he was a bit too eager to be around her, to be honest. Although it did make complete sense. Jace out of all of them knew Valentine best – on a personal level. Maybe his presence was some way of helping Eve cope with Valentine and Jonathan's death.

And maybe _her_ presence was also some way of helping _Jace_ cope with Valentine's death…

Shaking back her dark hair, Isabelle frowned. Part of her wanted to pity Eve, wanted to see her happy after the horrible life she had been forced into, but the other part of her could not trust a girl that had been so personally involved with Valentine and Jonathan Morgenstern when Max died. How could she truly be regarded as innocent? But then, how could Eve not be innocent, considering how much interrogation she had gone through with the Silent Brothers?

Isabelle didn't know. And it was too emotionally exhausting to keep thinking about it. Her entire family had decided more or less that Eve was just a pawn in Valentine's game, and that they really didn't know what extent of pain that he and Jonathan had put her through; they had agreed it was better to just assume that she was helplessly lost and needed their help. But either way, Isabelle had been dying for the chance to talk to her more.

Which would have been easier if the Clave officials hadn't been _hogging_ her all the time.

"Ah," a voice sighed. "Here we are."

Suddenly, the steps they had been trudging up leveled off, and they all were on the Institute's roof. The city was blaring this morning, with light, with the smell of rush-hour traffic – but Eve didn't seem to marvel at it. Which was strange, Isabelle thought, considering the circumstances. From what her family had told her, Eve had been raised in the rural country of Idris – and that the property had been boxed in with a glamor and wards for protection, and she had never been out of it. If that was true, then shouldn't Eve be more excited to see New York – to see such a massive swirl of people?

It didn't really matter, Isabelle supposed, but it did seem a bit off… As if Eve had somehow been in the city before…

The Inquisitor had led them to a cleverly set up training station – there were some quivers of arrows, a few bows, and several sullen-looking Clave members in black fighting gear. As they stepped out of their single-file procession, Isabelle caught a glance of her brother's face, and saw that he was smiling – blatantly smirking. She was a bit confused for a moment, only for a moment, until she realized why he was happy: One of Alec's greatest strengths as a Shadowhunter was archery. Alec was going to try and outshine Eve's skills with his bow and arrow.

But Isabelle wasn't really sure he would succeed.

No matter how much faith she had in her brother, there was something volatile contained within this mysterious visitor. But if Alec _could_ do it, Isabelle supposed, it wouldn't be such a bad thing. She, for one, would be very happy to know that this girl's power actually _had_ some limits.

Eve was to the front of the group, but Isabelle could only see her from behind. The short black dress she wore last night was the same one she wore today – Apparently, the enchantment on that satchel of hers had been harder to crack than the Silent Brothers had thought. Eve hadn't received her valuables back yet, and she had not been given anything else to change into. Generously, the Inquisitor had offered to pay for a new outfit for her, but Eve told him she didn't need his charity, and she had insisted it so emphatically that no one really had had the nerve to push her on the matter. Isabelle would have offered to let her borrow some old clothes, of course, but she hadn't _seen_ Eve at all that morning to help her. Reason number two why Jace and the Clave really ought to share her more with the rest of them.

"This will be the first test of the day, Eve," Argyle began. His voice carried resonant and clear – a leader's voice. "Archery. Of course, I would like to call one of Clave's greatest young bowmen to come as a means of comparison… Alexander Lightwood, would you mind shooting an arrow of your own alongside one of Eve's, to show these gentlemen how skilled the both of you are?"

Alec stepped forward, his blue eyes alight. "I would be honored to, Inquisitor."

"Well, then," Argyle continued. A few of the Shadowhunters moved out and handed Alec and Eve both a bow and a quiver with a few arrows. Silver feathers tipped Eve's arrows, and Alec's were tipped with black. "Perhaps you ought to start with the close targets first, and then move to the farther ones…"

Eve shifted on her feet uncomfortably. "I… cannot," she replied quietly.

Immediately, Jace protectively stepped to her side, with Silverspear only a moment behind. The other company of Shadowhunters glowered in disapproval.

"Eve." The Inquisitor's words were soft and gentle, and full of a shocking amount of concern. "What do you mean by that?"

Her gold-flecked eyes scanned sorrowfully over the Nephilim and the archery targets before her. She looked as tormented as a fallen angel. Meanwhile, Alec glared at her in an expressly un-angelic manner. "It… is too close," she whispered.

"Too close?" Alec scoffed. "These targets span the length of the Institute's entire roof. How much farther do you want?"

Shuddering, Eve's eyes plummeted hastily to the concrete below her feet. Jace aimed a scowl at his _parabatai_ that could have burned a hole through a brick wall.

For some reason, Isabelle noticed that Jace's eyes seemed more gold than usual. Maybe it had something to do with the light.

"Do you see the statue, there in the distance?" came Eve's meek reply.

Everyone looked. There was a vague outline of something that might have been a statue, standing a building's length away, but Isabelle couldn't make out the individual details. Even the Inquisitor and Jace and Alec were squinting, trying to make it out.

"I see it," her brother stated. "What part of the statue would you like to make the target?"

The other Shadowhunters murmured appreciatively at that. Hitting the statue itself from this sort of distance would be considered a miracle. To specify the part of the statue was ambitious, almost arrogant, even.

"The eye," Eve said.

More muttering came from the Shadowhunters. The eye was the most difficult part to identify – she was insane to think she could hit the mark anywhere even _near_ that.

"Alright," Alec agreed; his jaw was impossibly tight. "I'll go first."

After a permitting gesture from the Inquisitor, Alec walked to Eve's side, pulled an arrow out of the quiver, and strung his bow as gracefully as Isabelle had ever seen him do it. The individual motions he used were slow, deliberate, purposeful – a sort of art. It was like the way Isabelle had seen Clary draw once. She knew each stroke had to be perfect, because it became all part of the greater work.

In the end, it took Alec almost a full minute of aiming before he finally let the arrow fly, and that minute had sometimes been rudely interrupted by one of the other Shadowhunter's impatient mumbles or an ill-timed cough – but when Alec at last let the arrow go, the shot was straight and perfect and true – something that even his archery teachers would have had a difficult time reciprocating.

Pride rose in Isabelle's chest for her brother as they heard the arrow land into the target, distantly, with the unforgiving sound of metal against stone. That sound gave Isabelle all the information she needed to know: Alec had hit the statue. And from the looks of it, the shot had landed somewhere on the figure's face.

Even Jace was smiling at the sight.

"Well done, Alexander!" Inquisitor Silverspear applauded, his green eyes dancing. "That was a marvelous shot."

"Thank you, Inquisitor."

Without another word, Alec stepped back and Eve hesitantly took his place, her bow hanging limply in her hand.

"So I am shooting for the eye?" she asked.

Argyle nodded. "Yes, Eve."

She thought about that for a minute. "For the white, the pupil, or the iris?" she asked again.

There was a moment of silence, and then all the surrounding Shadowhunters roared with laughter – except for the Lightwoods, Jace, and the Inquisitor. But as insane as it sounded, the girl didn't seem to be joking. She was staring at the group of onlookers incredulously, as if she had asked them as simple a question as, "how are you feeling today?" and had gotten the same mocking result.

The Inquisitor extended a commanding hand to the group, silencing their ridicule. "Aim for the pupil, Eve," he answered.

The blonde glanced nervously at her feet again, and Isabelle thought she could see her anxiously chewing on her lip. "Whenever you give the signal, sir," stated Eve, looking unready.

Isabelle was beginning to wonder whether if a girl as seemingly insecure as her _had_ any battle skills, but then the Inquisitor said a quick, "Go," to Eve, and Isabelle's thinking changed.

As soon as Argyle had said the word, Eve's body blurred in a wave of sudden, powerful movement and her arrow was already flying through the air. Somehow the girl had gotten her arrow from the quiver, strung the bow, aimed, and shot it within the timespan of a heartbeat. Isabelle hadn't even been able to make out the individual motions. By the time Argyle had finished his word, the arrow had buried itself into the statue with the sound of a crack.

No one – not even the spectator Nephilim – was laughing then.

Everyone stood agape as Eve placed her archery equipment casually to the ground, as if she had done nothing out of the ordinary. There was a certain embarrassment to the way she glanced around at everyone's bewildered stares, when she finally saw them.

Eve instinctively moved closer to the Inquisitor and to Jace, her blue eyes downcast. "Excuse me," she murmured politely. " But did… did I do something wrong, Inquisitor Silverspear?"

Argyle recovered his composure rather gracefully. "No… No, Eve. You did nothing wrong," he promised her. "Come," he directed, addressing everyone. "We will see how well you fared in the test."

Single file, all the Nephilim followed Argyle's lead – and Isabelle was sure everyone noticed as the Inquisitor put a reassuring hand on Eve's shoulder. No one seemed to really approve of him doing it.

The space between the Institute rooftop and the other one was luckily narrow enough to jump over, and in almost no time at all, the procession was at the statue-target in question.

It was a lovely sculpture, Isabelle supposed. It looked like an ancient Grecian representation of a woman, like she had seen them in her lessons, with strong facial features and intelligent, doe-like eyes.

Alec's black-feathered arrow was buried in the pale, stone woman's chin. A shot more skilled than Isabelle had ever seen.

And buried in the exact center of the eye, in the slight indentation where the pupil would have been – was a silver-tipped arrow.

Eve's.

And on top of her remarkable aim, there were deep, prominent fissures in the stone around the silver arrow, showing the sheer power the arrow had been propelled by as it had dug into its target. It was a testament to Eve's own strength and precise skill.

Alec looked incensed by all of it, Isabelle saw. Not that anyone noticed.

The Shadowhunters around them were crowding around the statue and were taking meticulous notes on some official looking documents. Argyle was simply staring at the arrows, looking baffled.

Somehow, Eve seemed to sense Alec's displeasure through the bustle of all the other people. And instead of exploiting his unhappiness, Eve's next course of action drew attention _away_ from his loss; which seemed like a really selfless thing to do, Isabelle thought, considering how much of a jerk Alec had been to her, so far.

Isabelle was starting to have a small, _very_ small, liking for this girl, as she watched the blonde turn from the group and move to go back to the Institute. Light caught at Eve's beautiful face as she flashed a weak smile.

"What will be the next test, Inquisitor?" she asked politely.

* * *

In the end, Eve had exceeded their expectations through every test she was given.

Against his will, Jace had to smile as he reminisced on the day's shocking events. The massive group of Nephilim was walking the length of the Institute's corridor, but Eve strode elegantly at his side – like a guardian angel, it seemed.

Albeit, Jace noted absently, the kind that could rip apart an army with her bare hands.

Eve had blown everyone out of the water with her archery skills that morning – and her abilities with all other long-range attacks had been just as impressive; chakrams and throwing knives had been like child's play to her. And contrary to what they had all thought, changing to mid-range battle techniques had had no effect on her abilities either. Isabelle had been obviously outclassed when Eve had faced her with the whip, that afternoon. Their newest addition to the Institute had brought Isabelle down in less than a minute – but thankfully, Isabelle had been _impressed_ to see Eve defeat her. Unlike Alec, who had spent all afternoon sulking, with his arms crossed broodingly over his chest.

Now they were moving on to what, Jace assumed, was Eve's last test of the day – short range battle – and his crooked smirk widened at the thought.

So far, the Inquisitor had chosen the best of the best to face off Eve in these tests.

And Jace also knew that the most qualified short-distance fighter they had in the group was himself.

Some part of him was anticipating fighting her – and why, he had no idea. Maybe it was simply because she was like him. Because she had Angel's blood in her veins.

Of course, Clary had the Angel's blood too, but it was different. Her life had not been the same as his. She had not been trained like he had – and especially not by Valentine. And while Jace counted it a good thing, for her to have avoided Valentine's influence, he knew it also meant that she could not relate to him on some necessary parts of his life. Eve, however, knew things that Clary could never know. She understood what it was like to learn from Valentine, to be constantly pushed past your own physical and mental limits, to be bound to him in that inexplicable, obscure way, to love him and fear him at the same time. All the formalities, the regulations, the high standards, the moral and political values that Valentine imposed, Eve knew them all. She recognized why Jace felt the things he felt and did the things he did. She didn't always require him to explain himself.

She grasped the things that Clary could never truly understand – the things that Clary could only sympathize with.

And Jace had to admit it was an unspeakable relief, to meet someone who could _relate_ to him – not just offer him pity.

Argyle Silverspear, who was leading the procession, suddenly stopped. They all followed suit, only to see that he had directed them to the door to the Institute's training-room. And for whatever reason, the Inquisitor was looking mildly strained as he opened the door and gestured them all inside.

"The last test of the day will be short range battle," Argyle said, confirming Jace's thoughts as they entered the room.

Jace breathed in the familiar smell of wood and leather and steel as he walked in – and it encouraged him. This place was as much 'home' to him as his own bedroom was. It was a comfort to be there; especially with Eve safely beside him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Eve's expression brighten when she saw the massive room – the arched ceiling, the lines of pristine equipment. It was like the rest of the Institute had been scrawled with some foreign language, and the training room was in perfectly comprehendible English to her. She glanced up at him as she saw two swords that were waiting on the mats, knowing it was for them. A gentle smile curled her pretty lips.

"Eve," Silverspear said stiffly. "Step forward."

She did so, rather tentatively. It was the first time that the Inquisitor had not spoken to her with total and complete caring. The few step's space between him and Eve seemed like a chasm between two worlds.

A long moment passed, leaving Jace to wonder why Argyle wasn't calling him up too. After all, it was obvious that _he_ was going to face her – why was the Inquisitor dragging it out?

To his shock, the Inquisitor nodded to one of the by-standing Shadowhunters, not Jace – and a young, dark-haired man stepped to Eve's side. Jace saw her glance back at him with her big, gold-flecked blue eyes, looking confused. Alec and Isabelle moved to either side of Jace – Isabelle almost apologetically, and Alec proudly, as if he was happy to see them apart.

"Now the rules are as follows –"

"Inquisitor," Jace interrupted, gaining a dirty look from his _parabatai - _and everyone else in general.

Silverspear turned warily.

He was not a stupid man, Jace knew; no fool would be allowed the position of Inquisitor. If Jace had to guess, Argyle knew exactly what he was about to say and was dreading it.

"Why did you choose this Nephilim to face Eve?" demanded Jace. "Of all the people here, I am closest to being her equal. I ought to be the one to battle her."

The Inquisitor's eyes narrowed in his direction. It seemed that the mood in the room darkened a fraction.

"The test will be postponed for a moment," Argyle declared to the group. "Eve, I suggest that you take a short rest… I need to have a quick word with Mr. Herondale in the hall."

Both the Lightwoods looked mildly alarmed, but Jace stopped any potential protests as he turned and wordlessly walked out the training-room door. He felt Eve's eyes following him like a tangible weight – like the constant brush of a feather. Then suddenly, Argyle's footsteps were following his, and Jace was forced to draw his attention away from Eve.

The doors closed behind Jace with a heavy thud. Argyle must have shut them.

"Jace," the Inquisitor began in a low tone. "I apologize for not allowing you to do battle with her. But you must have _some_ idea why I decided to keep you two apart in this regard."

Jace could not think of anything in particular.

"I _don't_ understand," he admitted in an equally quiet voice. "Eve trained with Jonathan Morgenstern – probably had to battle him on many occasions. You know that the man you picked to fight her today will be no challenge – _I_ am closer to her and Jonathan's skill level; it only makes sense that I am the one to –"

"Oh?" Argyle cut in, smoothly. "And how do you know you are on par with Jonathan Morgenstern, Jace?"

"Because I –"

He stopped, and Argyle's reasoning began to set in.

_Because I killed him_, Jace had been meaning to say. And it was absolutely true. He had killed Jonathan. He had killed Eve's fiancée.

The realization must have shown on his face.

"Do you understand now?" the Inquisitor gently asked. "It is for her good that you do not battle each other. Especially not in swordsmanship. It may bring about… less than pleasant memories for her."

"Do you think she… wants revenge for that? For me killing him?" he wondered. "Is that why you don't want us to do this?"

"Oh, no," Argyle answered immediately. There was a wealth of certainty in his voice that was reassuring to hear. "I went through her memories, Jace. And there is always a certain portion of memories that is connected to emotion and sentiment. I could sense her motives, her feelings… She holds no resentment against you."

"Then why –?" With a shake of his head, Jace glared at the closed training-room door. "Why will you not let us –"

"Like I said before," the Inquisitor repeated. "I went through Eve's memories – at least, as much as she was willing to let me see. I know better than anyone else what sort of torture she has been put through. I will not let her go through any more."

There was a moment where Jace thought about Silverspear's words. He supposed he could have rattled off a few more convincing responses to that, a few more arguments to use so that he could fight her, but none of them were worth hurting Eve for, in the end.

Slowly, Jace nodded, stepped past the Inquisitor, and opened the doors to the training-room, feeling defeated.

Immediately, a grey flash took up Jace's vision and he shot out his hand instinctively, catching the object that had been hurled at him. It was long, cold, surprisingly heavy, and it molded to the grip of his hand in an all too familiar way.

The group of Shadowhunters gaped at him – and the object he was holding.

It was a sword.

Jace looked up to see Eve at the edge of the black mats in the center of the room, her expression insistent. The man who was supposed to be her opponent was weaponless and looked slightly puzzled. In Eve's hand was the matching blade to Jace's.

"Eve." It was the Inquisitor's voice, coming from behind Jace. "What is the meaning of this?"

She stared at Argyle – almost right through him.

"You may have gone through some of my memories," she stated. "And you may have known my biological parents, Inquisitor Silverspear, but do not presume to know who I am or what my wishes are… If you try to fit me and my personality into a mold because it suits you, you are no better than Valentine and Jonathan were."

A pause followed, where the whole room was tensely silent.

Jace heard Silverspear chuckle.

"So you heard us, after all, Eve?" he pondered. Then added, "I supposed you might have. Your hearing is so painstakingly acute."

"I want to fight him," Eve told him. "I want to fight Jace. He is the only one strong enough; I may harm someone else if I face them – after all, this is not like target practice or the whip. This involves my own physical strength in the blows, not just precision. Jace is the only one I can do battle with. The only one with the power to face me."

Another chuckle.

"You _are_ stubborn." With a little sigh, the Inquisitor stepped forward to stand at Jace's side. Finally Jace could see Silverspear's facial expressions – the Clave official appeared vaguely amused. "Very well, Eve… As long as you feel you are ready for it."

"I'm ready," she vowed.

Jace neared the mat confidently, and the other man stepped aside. Eve took her place opposite Jace with a meek smile, and he noted that part of that smile was slightly conspiratorial – as if she had only opposed the Inquisitor to get Jace's way.

"On your mark, Inquisitor," Jace said with a grin, getting into position. Eve didn't bother readying herself. She looked disturbingly relaxed and level-headed as she gazed at Jace.

Leisurely, Silverspear strode to where Alec and Isabelle were standing; and his green eyes were flashing with sincere intrigue.

"Go," he commanded.

Jace gladly went.

With a screech of clashing metal, Jace dashed forward with a swipe of his blade and landed the first hit, but Eve countered him with a surprising force, driving him backward. His steps echoed as he backed a few paces, but Eve was not thrown off at all. She flashed a cruel smile and twirled her sword skillfully in her hand.

"You will have to think this through a little better than that," she told him. "Petty blows will not be enough to defeat me."

Momentarily, Jace simply stared at her. Nothing in her features had changed, but that smile she wore, that façade of arrogance and control, had changed her. For a tiny flicker of time, he was almost sure that Valentine was standing in front of him, not Eve. He wondered if she knew what that look was doing to him.

In a lightning strike of speed, Eve blazed forward, swiping her sword – and Jace had to fight to just keep up and defend himself. Her fierceness and her violent, rapid strikes were not what he had anticipated, not even close. Her movements were almost invisibly quick. A moment later there was a hot streak of pain that flared across his cheek – and Jace knew she had gotten under his guard. He was certain he heard someone call out his name in panic, but he could not make out the voice. That voice had distracted him though, and Eve knew it. Her next blow took advantage at his sudden waver of attention and Jace knew he could not block it with the way his sword was then. He manipulated his weapon just in time to hear the metal of their blades connect with a clatter, and he knew he had been successful in shielding himself.

Jace was on his knees, holding his sword with lengthwise rather than vertically, defending his position. And Eve was standing above him, forcing her sword against his with all her strength.

There was a shriek of grinding iron as their blades faced off. Something warm and thick trickled down Jace's cheek to the corner of his lips – and he thought it was sweat, until he tasted it on his tongue.

It was blood.

Eve suddenly gave in to his defence and drew back her sword, but only to bring it forward with a powerful, swift stroke at Jace's head. He ducked the hit and kicked out at her legs, making Eve loose her footing. She fell on her back to the mat beside him, her sword skittering just out of her grasp; she was off-guard for a split second. That instant gave Jace an opening: he swung a back-handed swipe her way – but it did not give him the advantage as he had hoped. Eve used his force to her purposes – and instead of blocking Jace's blow, she gripped him by the wrist and pulled him through the motion.

Before he knew it, he was face-down on the mat, with Eve sitting on him, pinning his one arm to his back and the other to the floor with her knees. Jace wondered where she got her fighting spirit from. A cold pinpoint of pain bloomed at the back of his neck – and Jace assumed that Eve had recollected her lost sword and was poising it, blade-down, at the nape of his vulnerable neck.

It was a death stroke.

If she had wanted to, she could have driven that blade home. No one there was fast enough to stop her, after all.

But she hadn't.

She _hadn't_.

Jace let his breath out in exhilaration – in relief.

Eve had won the challenge. Really defeated him.

A heavy mist of silence descended over the room as Jace took in the realization. He was suddenly very aware of Eve, of the way she was catching her breath as she finally rolled off him and got to her feet near him. "Jace," she breathed. Worry tinged her tone with a measure of panic. "Jace, are you alright?"

The cut on his cheek began to sting.

"I'm alright," he assured her. Dragging the back of his fist over his cheek, Jace slowly rose to his knees. His shoulder ached from when his arm had been pinned behind him, and his fist came back to him sticky with drying blood. "You look unscathed, though," he added as he stood.

The first thing he saw was Eve's gentle, beautiful smile. Although that smile seemed a bit rueful.

"Not _quite_ unscathed," she told him, turning to her side. A long, thin slice ran the width of her shoulder and was oozing a trace amount of blood. Jace could not remember actually _landing_ a strike on her – and he could not say that he was particularly happy to see that he had.

"Jace!"

It was Alec's voice, full of concern. He aimed a deadly glower at Eve as he rushed over and inspected Jace's cheek – viewing the extent of the damage. To Jace's surprise, Eve cringed sadly at Alec's glare – and it seemed odd that someone who had almost limitless abilities could actually feel _offended_ by something as trivial as a glare. But it was part of her charm, Jace supposed: No matter how strong Eve may or may not have been, she still was empathetic, still conscious of other people.

It was a wonder that Valentine could ever have raised someone like her; she was his complete opposite.

Argyle looked on at the scene, as if he may intervene for Eve's benefit. But Isabelle, unlike her brother, flounced to Eve's side with a marvelling smile – and the Inquisitor remained where he was.

"That was amazing!" she exclaimed gleefully at Eve. "I've never seen anyone fight like that before! How did you do that?"

Eve flushed. "I… I don't know," she replied sheepishly, glancing at her feet. "I… just did it instinctively, I think."

"Isabelle, don't _congratulate_ her!" Alec scolded. "Look what she did to Jace!"

"Yes, just look at me," Jace offered dramatically, pointing a sarcastic finger to his cheek. "She wounded my pretty face. I may never be the same again."

There was a beautiful, light sound that came out of Eve's mouth then, and Jace realized that it was because she was giggling.

"The only thing that's wounded here is your _ego_, Jace," Isabelle snapped at him. "And I, for one, was very amused to see someone get the better of you in a battle… Maybe it will teach you some manners."

He sniffed, as if offended by the thought. "Manners?" he echoed. "I am a textbook example of 'manners.'"

Eve smirked, and opened her mouth as if to say something – but she was interrupted.

A slow, steady clapping came from the doorway of the training room.

Everyone stopped and turned to the sound, expecting that it was Argyle making the gesture – but it was not Argyle. The source of the noise was a much shorter, much heavier, much older man with thinning mousy hair and weaselling grey eyes. He was a man decked out in flowing, black robes – a man who was encircled by group of heavily-armed Nephilim.

A man that was starkly unwelcome there, as far as Jace was concerned.

"Bravo, Eve!" the man called across the room. His voice was just as repulsive and nasally as Jace remembered. "A fantastic display! A fine show of swordsmanship!"

Eve visibly cringed, and then offered him a short, lady-like curtsy. Jace saw the man scan her bare legs again, eagerly – and Jace fought the urge to drag the sword in his hand into the man's chest. "Thank you for your flattery, Consul," Eve said through her teeth. "I am glad to see that you are so pleased with my success."

He scuttled over hastily, as if her answer had been some sort of invitation for him. "Oh no, no, _no,"_ he insisted, catching her hand. "There is no need for formalities between us, sweet girl… Please, Eve, call me Felix."

Isabelle – even Alec, who didn't seem to like Eve at all – glared at the Consul's pushy gesture.

Eve snatched her hand away from his chubby fingers.

"Felix, then," she muttered grudgingly.

"Consul," a new voice uttered coolly. Argyle slid immediately towards Eve, as gracefully and as soundlessly as a shadow. His looming height made Felix look like a swamp toad as he stared him down. "I had no idea you were coming here to oversee the day's events," he said stonily. "If I had known you were going to arrive, I would have made sure you were able to witness _all_ of Eve's tests…"

"Oh, do not worry yourself Argyle," the Consul replied with a wheezy, discordant laugh. "I came out of curiosity, nothing more."

"Well it seems a pity that you came all this way for nothing, Consul," Jace observed amusedly, gaining a martyred look from Eve. "Perhaps we could have you over for dinner; Isabelle is a _fantastic_ cook."

Alec snorted at the comment.

Isabelle jabbed her elbow savagely into her brother's ribs.

"No, thank you," the Consul declined. "I am not hungry – well not for food, at least." He glanced longingly at Eve. "I only desire to have the privilege of your company, Miss Riversend; I have become very interested in you, you see, Eve… Your life is one of great intrigue. I hope that you will tell me more about it…"

Argyle looked like he wanted to smack him.

"Perhaps at a later date," he replied. Shrewdly, Silverspear scooped Eve to his black-robed side, protecting her from the Consul's greedy stare. Felix looked disappointed. "As you can see, Eve seems very exhausted from her tests and desperately needs to rest."

"Yes. Of course. Rest." The Consul deflated with every word, like an airless balloon. "Forgive me for my rudeness, Eve… Eve?" he abruptly demanded. " Eve! Eve, are you listening to me?"

Jace glanced at her. Eve's gold-specked eyes were not focused on the Consul, at all. In fact, she wasn't even gazing in his general direction. Her attention was glued to the training room's farthest wall, where a row of windows let in the natural light. It was a nice view, Jace thought, but not enough to draw one's gaze so strongly – until he noticed that one of those windows was open, the fabric drapes tossing in the late afternoon breeze. It hadn't been that way when they had arrived in the room, he was sure – and Jace was almost certain that no one had opened it when they were not looking.

Argyle's precise gaze was focused on the same window, as well.

"Eve!" the Consul repeated. "I _said_, are you listening to me?"

Her head suddenly turned his way, her blue eyes snapping back into focus. "Yes. I – I am, I … I am sorry, Consul… I am fatigued –"

"Yes. Fatigued. Quite right… I understand." Felix murmured the words fawningly, suddenly overflowing with kindness for Eve. "You must not apologize to me… I myself am also a busy man. I know the strains of life. And unfortunately, it is because of my duties I cannot stay very long, now… I came only to obtain the results of your examination for myself. It is delicate information, as I am sure you guessed, and needs to be kept in the safest hands... Oh," Felix gestured to one of his guards, who stepped forward with something in his arms. "And I came to give you this."

Eve's face lightened a fraction. The object in the Shadowhunter's hands was something Jace was sure that Eve was glad to see - her satchel.

She stepped forward and retrieved it, just as the Consul turned to the training-room door.

The Shadowhunters handed the Consul a neat stack of papers, and Felix almost exited the room once he got the documents, with his body-guards in tow – but then he stopped.

"Oh, and do not worry," the Consul crooned at her. "I will not make you wait long. Surely we meet again shortly, my beautiful Eve."

She shuddered, and muttered "I am not your Eve," just as a sharp noise sounded from the open window.

A noise that resembled a raven's irritable caw.

Jace glanced at the window, just in time to see a pair of birds soaring ominously toward the towering buildings – one bird ink-black, and the other a fair silver color. It was impossible to tell from the distance, but Jace was almost _certain_ that the silver bird was the same one from the night before - the one that had attacked Eve...

Outside, the sun was beginning to set.

* * *

**Tell me how you liked it! **

**Admittedly, this chapter is not much of a force in driving the plot - but it is essential to setting up the pretense for next chapter, which I am absolutely _dying_ to write. (In case you haven't guessed, it involves Jonathan :) ...)**

**P.S: Don't you hate the Consul? Sometimes I feel as if this story writes itself, and as much as I do or don't want to include things in a chapter, they just seem to pop up... **

**Anyway, see you next time! (And hopefully it won't be such a long wait in between.)**

**Love, Fishie.**


	8. Chapter 8: A New Threat

**Hello Readers!**

**It has been a while since I have updated last, but I am _extremely_ excited to be posting this chapter right now! Hopefully, it will answer some of the questions that you have been wondering about, (and maybe it will leave you with more questions than answers, but that's alright too... :)...) ****And this chapter has my favorite psychotic character in it, so why would I _not_ be happy about it? Heheh...**

**Enjoy this chapter of Eden... :)**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Mortal Instruments!**

* * *

Argyle Silverspear stepped down from the carriage with a slow sigh, taking in the black, star-speckled night sky above him.

His day had been a long one.

Eve's training had taken most of the daylight hours, and the results had been tiring to see, even though he had fully expected the outcome. No matter what range of attack, no matter what weapon she was wielding, Eve was a master fighter… And it had been exhausting to watch Eve surpass everyone in the Institute, knowing that it had been because of Valentine Morgenstern, because of that terrible name, that she knew any of those skills. And then to see that silver bird again, after her fight with Jace…

The whole business seemed a bit ominous.

But his evening had been far from over after Eve's training exercises had finished. At Jace's request, Argyle had paid an odious, dangerous visit to Jocelyn Graymark and her new husband, Lucian, hoping to convince her to allow Clarissa to continue her studies at the Institute, even while Eve stayed there… It had taken hours of deliberation and a rather heated argument, but in the end, he and Lucian had convinced Jocelyn that Eve was no threat to her daughter – and Jocelyn had allowed Clary to continue her training at the Institute, starting tomorrow, with a few conditions: One, Clary and Eve were never to meet with each other. Two, Eve was never to know in any way that Clary was coming to the Institute or to see her face. And three, Jace was to have Clary in his sight – at _all_ times.

It seemed a bit overkill to Argyle – but he could sympathize with Jocelyn's protective defense of her daughter… So much had happened to Clary because of Valentine. Now that they had achieved some sort of normalcy in their lives again, he understood why Jocelyn would want to shield their new, happy life – even from someone as harmless as Eve.

Well, Argyle thought in retrospect… Maybe 'harmless' was the wrong term for Eve…

Emile's daughter had literally been trained to become a killing machine – a one-woman army, he mentally corrected, shivering into his long coat.

After _that_ discussion with the Graymarks, Argyle had returned home to Alicante – but he had stopped by Emile's mausoleum on the way back to the city… Although he knew Emile was long gone, hopefully in some better place, Argyle had still wanted to tell him the news, to tell him how beautiful, how kind, how strong his daughter was… He felt like he at least owed Emile that… But having to say it was bittersweet: Argyle had sworn to Emile and his deathbed that he would find Eve – that he would keep her safe… but Argyle had not actually found her, after all this time… Not until Eve had walked into the Silent City a couple days ago, making herself known to him… By this time, Eve was now almost an adult. She had already tasted the pain that Emile had hoped Argyle could save her from. But, thankfully, the Inquisitor had not been able to stay at his friend's tomb for very long – and he had not been given much time to wallow in regret.

Images flashed through his mind as Argyle walked through the street now, heading to the steps of the Accords Hall – the images of memory he saw were not his own, though… He watched through the vision of Eve's own eyes the lights of the Accords Hall, the sound of the music and the excitement of some activity that was in her past – but then Argyle blinked purposefully, and the mental image faded into what was really in front of him now… There was less light somehow, as Argyle now saw the Accord's Hall, and there were far less people milling outside, tonight.

A few of the remaining passers-by stared at him as he walked away from the carriage, in an expression of respect.

Seeing other's memories was a strange thing that way, Argyle knew: the other's thoughts blended in with your own recollections… It took strict mental control and a firm understanding of one's own self to separate the two…

With a shudder, Argyle pulled his coat closer to his shoulders.

The marble of the Accords Hall was meticulously polished, gleaming like pearl in the Witch-light lamps that glowed across the street. One of the strangers opened the door for Argyle, with a polite nod of his blonde head, as the Inquisitor neared the doorway. "Good evening, Inquisitor," the man greeted.

Argyle nodded to him shortly as he passed.

"Good evening," he replied.

There was a party going on in the Accords Hall that night, as there usually was – The ballroom was brimming with teams of guests in a rainbow of formal attire: couples dancing to the lively music, chatting with each other against the mirrored walls… But the mass of party-goers immediately separated with bows and elegant curtsies and murmurs of 'Hello, Inquisitor!' and 'How are you, Inquisitor?' as Argyle marched by, keeping his head down.

He smiled amiably at them, but tried to not look at any specific person too closely.

More than once, he had caught a glimpse of a young woman with black, waving hair, flawlessly bronze skin, brown eyes, and beautiful features – and he would find himself mistaking whatever girl in front of him for that unchangeable figure in his memory, the picture of the woman that had been stamped into his mind like a wax seal – and he had accidentally let his eyes linger longer than they ought to have. The problem was that whatever girl he had stared at would assume he was romantically interested in her – and later that girl would try to talk to him, or would even try to get _too_ familiar with him, hoping to gain the power his position offered, and it would tear Argyle's heart to pieces when he sent her away.

No one compared, after all.

No woman was like the one he had fallen in love with, so many years ago. There was no substitute for her.

And trying to find another lover was like digging open an old injury – it served no purpose other than to leave him with a bigger scar.

Quickly, Argyle had crossed through the party and the people and was heading to the back of the Accords Hall, to the corridors where no other person was allowed. The back half of the Accords hall was especially reserved for dignitaries of the Clave and diplomatic functions – it was where formal meetings were held, and also where the Consul and Inquisitor's living accommodations were.

Of course, Argyle and Felix both had manor-houses elsewhere – both of their families were extremely wealthy – but those residences were far out in the country, making it too difficult to commute to Alicante daily.

And besides, Argyle thought to himself. Even if he _did_ hate the lodgings here, there was no reason to really leave…

There was no one in his Manor to go home to, after all.

Fortunately, however, Argyle _did_ happen to like living in the Accords Hall. It was a private location, to some extent, and suited his secluded lifestyle well – and even apart from _those_ benefits, he had to admit the Hall itself was aesthetically beautiful, full of beauty and elegance. The marble corridors here were like a fortress, patterned with series of runes and icons of Shadowhunter lore; Jonathan Shadowhunter conversing with the Angel Raziel, the Angel holding the Mortal Instruments, and the group of men present there, receiving the cup the Angel had given them. Argyle saw his own ancestor there in that pictured group – Cato Silverspear, the first of his family line. As the legend went, Cato had been given his namesake after being the first to find an effective way to kill off werewolves:

Silver spear.

He smiled as he strode past the engraving.

A little ironic, in Argyle's mind, that many generations later, the seed of that original patriarch would be Inquisitor, facilitating the protection and cooperation of Nephilim _and_ Downworlders.

Argyle wondered if Cato would be disappointed by his behaviour.

Chuckling lightly, Argyle drew his eyes away from the walls and turned down one of the long, silent corridors. This was the last bend he was going to have to take before he was in his familiar rooms, in his office – but when the Inquisitor strode into the new hallway, he was not comforted by the thought of home.

Argyle stopped at the mouth of the corridor, his long, black robes swirling around him.

There was a group of five or so Nephilim, in full battle-wear, lingering around the doors where his and Felix's personal chambers were. Felix himself was in the center of that shifting group, hissing and jabbing his beefy finger accusingly at the other Shadowhunters. And even though that little man was shorter than most, Argyle knew he made up for his lost height with the rage of his volatile temper. The Shadowhunters looked almost afraid of their superior as he faced them.

"Idiots!" Argyle heard Felix snap. The man was gesturing wildly. "How could you have _not_ seen anything!? There is no person who could have done this without leaving _some_ trace! Go catch the culprit! And make sure none of the partygoers find out about this – it would ruin my reputation!"

"Felix," the Inquisitor cut in from the distance. Argyle immediately strode to the group – and he saw the other Nephilim relax at his presence. "What is the problem here?"

An army of polite greetings came from the armed Shadowhunters, but Felix was the one who spun around furiously to give Argyle the story. The Consul's face was greased with perspiration, and an ugly vein was throbbing at his temple. "Some insolent laggard broke into my office and _destroyed_ it!" he roared, his fat cheeks red with rage. "The furniture is all ruined – and there are papers everywhere! It will take more than a day's worth of work to reorganize it all! –"

"But that is not possible, Felix," Argyle countered soothingly. "All of the doors in the Accords Hall have specialized rune-codes… The perpetrator would have to slip past the guards, know the exact rune-combination to get into your room, and leave without a single person catching them…"

"Well apparently _someone_ knew!" Felix growled, running his fingers through his thinning, grey-streaked hair. He waved his chubby hand at the doorway. "How else could you explain _this_!?"

Reigning in his annoyance, Argyle strode into Felix's office – and stared, with a sudden measure of fear.

It looked like a _demon_ had gone on a rampage inside the room.

This mystery culprit had emptied every filing cabinet, and had apparently hurled the documents and files all around the room like confetti. Argyle was shocked to see the ground was absolutely littered with misplaced, ruined papers or toothed rubble. The Consul's office chair was thrown to the side savagely and was damaged beyond repair, and everything on Felix's grand office-desk had been wrathfully swiped off: The marble busts that had been on the desk were now scattered bits of demolished stone, there was a dusting of glass on the floor too, probably from the delicate decanter set that had once been in the corner – and all the writing utensils that had been there were snapped and broken on the paper-strewn floor, spilling ink. The entirety of the room, actually, seemed broken, he saw sadly. All the vases had been smashed into tiny pieces, all the priceless, age-old paintings and tapestries on the walls had been violently snapped in two or sheared with what looked like animal claws, the fabric curtains were slashed into tatters, and even the elegant wooden panelling on the walls had been scored with deep, chaotic, talon-like gashes. Rage, fury, loathing, hatred - they were apparent in every section of this disaster. Raw power was there too – it must have taken intense, passionate hostility to ruin the office, to that level. And from the looks of it, the culprit had savoured every moment of destruction.

Nothing in the room had survived.

As Argyle moved a step farther into the room, he saw that even the low-lying chaise in the room had been slashed apart, as if by a knife or sharp nails, spilling out white stuffing from the rips like a cascade of pale blood. It wasn't until the Inquisitor had taken a few more strides closer that he saw that the jagged slashes in the couch formed a series of uneven letters:

M-I-N-E.

The word 'mine'.

Some part of Argyle could almost _feel_ the deadly rage and strength that had gone into the carving of that word.

It seemed to haunt the demolished office like a ghost.

"See?!" Felix's whiny voice cut in. "It is absolutely ruined! The insolent brute will pay for this, whoever they are! By the Angel, they _WILL_ pay! And what does that mean, anyway? That word, 'mine'? To what could they be referring?! If they want the position of Consul –"

"Felix," Argyle snapped resonantly, his slender hands balling to fists. "Stop babbling and let me _think_."

The Consul stopped – more out of surprise, Argyle suspected, than out of respect.

Closing his green eyes, Argyle thought back to the events of today, trying to place the word 'mine' somehow with Felix. But that word was so broad – it could mean so many different things… And then his mind suddenly seemed to flick through and pick out the exact moment, like a picture from an album.

"_Oh, and do not worry_," the Consul had said to Eve, earlier in the Institute. "_I will make sure that we meet again shortly, my beautiful Eve_."

_**My**__ Eve_.

It was a possessive statement.

So this word that had been carved into the couch, it must have been a message of _caution_ to the Consul, Argyle quickly realized. A warning to stay away from Eve.

But why?

And more importantly, _who_?

No one even _knew_ about Eve enough to do something like this, he noted… Or so he had thought…

Abruptly, it seemed, the Inquisitor spotted something lying next to the words on the mangled couch: it was a light, silver-colored feather, as pearly as the moon.

The same color of the bird that had attacked Eve yesterday.

The same bird that he had thought he had seen at the New York Institute, this afternoon.

A few possible explanations came to Argyle, but they were too horrible to think about, making his heart race worriedly in his chest. He discarded the ideas, partially because he could not see this bird in Eve's memories, so it did not seem to have any connection to Valentine – and partially because there was no way to actually _prove_ that that bird had ever had anything to do with the Morgensterns, at _all_ –

Although, Argyle realized, Eve had _kept_ some things from him when he had interrogated her… It was possible that the _bird_ was one of those memories she had hidden…

Shoving away all those thoughts, the Inquisitor tried to calm himself and think about the main problem at hand, in spite of all those variables. His chest was hitching though, and his hands were clenched anxiously.

There was someone who knew about Eve, he observed sensibly. Someone dangerous, obviously. But even more frighteningly, this person knew the rune-codes for the Hall of the Accords – the diplomatic center of the Clave and Council.

And they had been able to get in and out of here – on the night of a party, no less – without even being spotted.

"Guards," Argyle commanded, straightening up to his full height. "Forget about the mess, for the moment… Change every rune-combination on every door in the Accord's Hall and report to me directly afterward. Start at the farthest end of the building and try not to cause suspicion with the guests that are here tonight. Trust no one else with the information."

The Shadowhunters were all suddenly alert, forgetting Felix entirely. "Yes, Inquisitor," they answered.

"But – but my office –" Felix complained.

"Enough!" Argyle growled, signalling his hand authoritatively at him. "It will come in time, Consul. Right now there are more pressing matters to address than your personal comfort… And my brothers," the Inquisitor added a bit more kindly, turning to the group of armed Nephilim in the doorway. "Be very careful… The culprit may still be in the building – and with this level of power and rage at their disposal, you must be always on your defense… May the Angel protect you all."

"And you as well, Inquisitor," the group gratefully replied before dispersing into the corridor.

With an inelegant snort, Felix spun in his heels and stormed out of the room behind them, like an unhappy toddler. He was snivelling under his breath about not getting his room cleaned and how no one ever listened to his commands and other such nonsense, but Argyle was not too inclined to care about Felix's selfish desires.

Everyone cleared out of the office, but Argyle remained.

He considered stepping out of the doorway as well; a large part of him wanted to, but he knew it was ultimately impossible. The chaos around him was both captivating and terrible. He wanted to stay here to look for more clues, to try and figure out _who_ did this mutilation and _why_ –

But then he saw a reflection in the massive window, and it distracted his thoughts.

It was a quick blur of movement that Argyle saw. A streak of silver shooting behind him, nothing more – and he tried to tell himself he was seeing things, imagining things that were not there…

Then he heard a familiar, taunting caw, the distant flapping of feathered wings, and he knew that he was _not_ hallucinating.

He picked his way through the rubble of the office, and then cautiously stepped into the corridor. The hallway was vacant except for a quick darting shadow that glided into a half-open door at the end of the walkway – and Argyle immediately realized two things: One, he understood that he had guessed correctly; that reflection he had seen in the office window was that silver bird - the same bird he had seen before, at the Institute. And secondly, he realized that the bird had just swooped into his own, personal office, as if luring him there.

At first, Argyle strode slowly to follow the bird – and then, he felt a cold shiver trickle down his spine, like ice water.

The part of him that had been trained to be a Silent Brother _sensed_ something: something _very_, inexplicably wrong here.

It wrenched his stomach like nausea.

Propelled by a force of urgency that he did not understand, Argyle started to pick up his pace, until he was sprinting down the corridor, his black Inquisitor robes streaming behind his tall, narrow frame. Echoes of his steps resounded against the marble walls like a heartbeat, thrumming in the building as he finally made it to his destination and hastily swung through the office's wooden, double-doors.

His office looked much like the Consul's, with a thick wooden desk in the center of the room, wooden panelling on the walls, and a massive picture window against the far end – but unlike Felix's office, Argyle's had not been destroyed. Everything was in its right place, in perfect order – but then he saw something there that made his heart skip a painful beat in his chest.

The curtains framing the window were blowing in a light breeze – a breeze that came from the not-supposed-to-be-open casement.

There was a dark, hooded figure sitting on the ledge of Argyle's gaping window, looking like they had been lounging there for quite a while. To Argyle's dread, the stranger did not even flinch as the Inquisitor inelegantly entered the room. They just continued to sit there, one knee tucked close to their chest, the other leg hanging dangerously out the window to the three story drop below, forming a striking, black silhouette in the moonlight.

On their shoulder was perched that silver bird from before – the one that had caused all that trouble with Eve – confirming Argyle's thoughts. The figure's pale, slender fingers were stroking the animal absently, like a pet – but it was a strange, disturbing caress.

The touch was gentle, but completely devoid of affection – to the point that that the gentle gesture seemed almost hostile.

So _this_ was the person who had ruin Felix's office, Argyle instantly understood, with a twinge of fury and panic. _This_ was the person who had been watching them in the Institute.

Although a black hood covered their face, Argyle could sense from the proud set of the unknown figure's shoulders that they were smiling, with cruel, malicious intent.

Reflexively, the Inquisitor reached into his own flowing sleeve and pulled out a dagger from the hidden sheath on his forearm, pointing it at the mysterious person. But again there was no reaction from this stranger – the person did not even turn their _head_ to see their attacker – and that lack of alarm was disconcerting to see.

"Who are you?" the Inquisitor demanded, trying to sound imposing. Argyle forced his arm to not waver as he held out his weapon, but whether he trembled or not did not seem to have an effect on the other person in the room.

To his horror, the individual just laughed.

The stranger had a young man's voice, Argyle noted; it had a deep tone, but it was as cold and musical as the chime of icicles – even though it held a sort of captivating air.

"So _you_ are the Inquisitor," the person murmured, not answering the question he had been asked. "I was expecting more of a challenge from a man so esteemed by the Nephilim."

Argyle ignored the insult.

"You have been watching Eve," the Inquisitor rumbled furiously, his fingers tightening on his dagger. "How do you know who she is? What do you want her for?"

Another chuckle came from the stranger.

"You act like you have some sort of _claim_ on her, Silverspear…" he growled, keeping a dark, sharp edge to his words. "You think you know her because you were _parabatai_ with her father… But you don't own Eve – and you never will… She doesn't _need_ you. _Or_ your filthy Clave… All she needs is _**me**_."

The silver bird hopped down from the stranger's shoulder to their wrist, but he did not seem to notice.

"Say what you like," Argyle snapped at him, his green eyes sparking. "But your words will change nothing. Eve is a valid member of the Clave now and she is under its protection; she will not leave for anything or anyone…"

The other, younger man tensed, like a match just struck into a flame.

"As if _you_ are one to talk!" the stranger snarled hotly, suddenly enraged. "You don't have the best track record for keeping _women_ in line, do you?"

Without a word, the other man reached into his cloak and hurled something bright and shimmering across the room at the Inquisitor. When the object finally skittered to the toes of Argyle's leather boots, he saw it was a simple but lovely diamond necklace, glittering like sugar crystals in the dim light.

The intruder's words and the necklace did not add up in Argyle's head.

He stared at the piece of jewelry for a moment longer, without understanding, and then he returned his gaze to the person in his window, wearing a frosty glare.

"Eve _will_ _not_ leave the Institute," the Inquisitor repeated with concrete certainty, in spite of his apprehension. "It is her _home_ now. She would never want to go."

"I could care _less_ what _she_ wants," the stranger hissed, flicking the silvery bird off his wrist cruelly. The animal flapped its wings at him irritably, and then soared out the window with a protesting squawk. "And it doesn't _matter_ what you think Eve _needs_… She doesn't live for herself: she lives for _**me**_… You are just a stupid, idealistic _fool_, Inquisitor… Eve is _**not**_ an Angel-girl anymore, no matter what kind of blood runs in her veins… And no matter how many little _friends_ you try to give her at the Institute, it will not change what she truly _is_. And what she is is a _weapon_, like me… Eve is _**mine**_. _**All**_ mine. _**Only**_ mine. Everything about her belongs to _**me**_ and to _**me**_ alone – She _**is**_ me… All she should ever want is _**ME**_, not some stupid home or some stupid place in your damned Clave… _**I**_ am her home. _**I**_ am where she belongs. So I will do with her what I like, and I'll _**kill**_ anyone who gets in my way."

Effortlessly, the figure crouched low in the open window, his back to Argyle – and in a single, powerful spring, disappeared from sight.

Argyle hesitated for a millisecond – only a millisecond – until he moved into action.

Dagger still in hand, Argyle rushed to the window and glanced downward – but there was no sign of the intruder on the ground. The lawn was empty. Quickly, the Inquisitor shot his eyes upward, just in time to see the shadowy figure dashing across the roof at a run, moonlight beaming on his cloaked shoulders.

Some rational part of his mind told him it was a terribly rash idea to pursue the stranger, but Argyle was beyond reason, at that point. Protective rage was fueling him, keeping him going.

As smoothly and lightly as a cat, the Inquisitor clenched his dagger between his teeth, swung out of his window, and scaled up the stone wall until he was on the roof. It was sheer willpower alone that kept him from looking down – because he knew if he so much as _glanced_ to the ground below, he would be paralyzed with fear. And fear would not serve him now.

Once his feet met the shingles of the roof, the Inquisitor took off at a sprint, following the figure in front of him with single-minded focus. But despite his efforts, it was obvious very quickly that there was no chance Argyle could catch up to the hooded man. There was almost a building's distance between them. And his speed was no match for the intruder in front of him, no matter how hard he struggled.

Swiftly, Argyle took the blade from his mouth and hurled it at the retreating shadow of the figure: it was a last resort, the only way of covering the distance his legs could not travel. The boy himself had stopped at the brink of the Accord's Hall roof, teetering on the edge, staring at the distance below – so Argyle had thought he may have had an opening…

But Argyle had been wrong.

In an insane burst of speed, the mystery person spun around, caught the knife blade-first before it could hit him, and launched it back to the Inquisitor in the span of a heartbeat. The boy's face was still concealed in darkness by his hood as Argyle tried to duck the sharp projectile – but he did not succeed.

He felt the hot burst of pain at his side, and knew he had not been quick enough to escape the hit.

His dagger clattered to the roof a few feet away, tinged red, and Argyle cried out. Clapping his hand to his ribs, he immediately felt blood seeping warmly through his long fingers, but he also instantly knew from his medical training that the wound was not deep or fatal – and that he had not severed any important blood vessels.

Relief beat through him like a pulse as he glanced up in the direction of his assailant.

Argyle sensed the young man smile.

"As much as I would love to finish you off here and now, Inquisitor," the figure sneered, pulling his hood farther over his head. His cowled face turned pointedly to the grassy lawn, five storeys below. "It seems we have an audience…"

"Inquisitor!" Argyle heard a few, distant voices cry from below.

Argyle made the mistake of gazing at the source of the calls, down to the ground, and he fought a wave of nausea and vertigo as he saw the guards from before looking up at him. Heights had always been his major weakness. No other sight really bothered him. Even being on the Institute roof that afternoon had been mentally draining…

He averted his eyes from the scene below him and instead focused on the person in front of him. But there was not much time to take in the details of that boy.

He turned to face Argyle, his black cloak billowing around him like smoke.

"Tell Eve I am coming for her," the stranger hissed dangerously. "And tell her that no matter where she hides, no matter where she goes, I will hunt her down and I will make her _**mine**_."

Argyle's stomach churned at his nausea, but then seconds after, that dark, cloaked figure stepped backward, casually. A moment later, he had plummeted off the side of the roof, vanishing from sight in an instant, as he dropped to the earth.

"Stop!" Argyle had wanted to say – but his throat constricted when he tried to speak, and his words did not make it past his lips. All he could do was sink to his knees, bonelessly, shivering in the cold night air, and put pressure on his throbbing wound.

His guilty conscience reminded him that this was the second time in his life that he had failed Eve.

The first time had been when he had never found her, even after Emile had begged him on his deathbed to locate her and make her safe from Valentine's clutches.

And now there was a new threat – and Argyle hadn't been able to prevent this one, either.

That volatile young man was threatening Eve's safety, and Argyle had been helpless to stop him.

The Inquisitor was not sure whether it was seconds or minutes that past, after that – time seemed to blur seamlessly until he heard footsteps approaching him from behind – but he thought it felt like only a short wait.

Moments later, it seemed, there were careful hands on his shoulders, drawing him up to his feet. The people around him were mumbling things like, 'By the Angel, he's bleeding!' and 'What in the world happened?' but Argyle was still too dizzy to really care – though he was beginning to wonder now whether that dizziness was from his fear of _heights_ or from simple blood loss. He hadn't really noticed until then that the side of his flowing black robes was plastered to his body with blood.

But the wetness streaming through his hands had subsided to a sticky pain. His bleeding was slowly stopping.

"I'm fine," he assured them, shrugging the helping hands off. "The person – that boy – did you get him?"

The group looked perplexed. "What boy?" they asked.

"The one that was on the roof with me," Argyle repeated insistently. His teeth were clamped together in pain. "The one that jumped off the side of the building…"

Every Nephilim was blank-faced. "We – we saw someone on the roof with you, Inquisitor," one brave young man piped up, "but we checked the entire perimeter as soon as we realized you were injured. No one was there."

"That… That can't be possible," Argyle growled, gripping his ribs.

But secretly, he knew it was.

If that intruder could have broken into his and Felix's office without a single trace, if he could have casually jumped off a five-storey building, if he could have somehow gotten between New York and Idris without being caught by any officials, then it was _certainly_ capable of vanishing into thin air.

Actually, vanishing into thin air seemed pretty reasonable, at this point.

He teetered unevenly of his feet – and a few men gripped him by the shoulders, stopping him from falling.

With a resigning sigh, the Inquisitor let the guards lead him down from the roof and take him back into the Accords Hall. They were muttering all the while about getting someone to look at his wound, and having someone secure the Hall while not causing alarm…

All of it seemed to blur into nothingness.

Argyle wasn't quite sure, but he was almost _certain_ he could hear that silvery bird cawing softly through that confusion – like it was perched in a tree somewhere nearby, mocking him.

* * *

When Jace first heard the knock on his door, he was alone in his bedroom, lying on his bed and smiling to himself.

He didn't exactly know _how_ the Inquisitor had done it, but somehow, Argyle Silverspear had convinced Jocelyn to let Clary continue training at the Institute – and Jace was starting to feel a strong liking for this new Clave official… Because of Argyle's efforts, first thing tomorrow morning, Jace would get to pick up Clary like always had, and he would bring her back to the Institute like he always had, and they would continue on life as they always had…

Of course, if he was going to be honest with himself, Jace knew it was only a matter of time before Jocelyn would have _had_ to give in and let Clary continue her lessons…

Knowing how stubborn Clary was, Jace expected she would have tried something _drastic_ if she had been forced to wait much longer: like trying to break out of her house – and then better yet, trying to break _into_ the Institute…

And that would not have gone over well – for either of them.

Absently, Jace wondered how Eve had been taught to deal with strange intruders – he could almost imagine Eve's wide look of horror if she knew that Valentine's daughter had done such an improper, thoughtless thing…

But that idea did not make him feel humored or any better.

Thinking of Eve made Jace's stomach clench.

She was actually with Isabelle, at the moment – which he was having slightly mixed feelings about.

Obviously, it was _good_ that Eve had befriended someone else in the Institute, he told himself. And although she may come off strongly, the Alec's sister was true and loyal to her friends… and for Eve have a companion like that was excellent news, considering all the hell she had been through…

And another good thing about Isabelle was that she rarely held a grudge. The Lightwood's daughter had shrugged of everything – the entirety of Eve's twisted past, everything about Jonathan Morgenstern – and had accepted Eve as warmly as a sister. Without hesitation, she had dragged Eve off to go play dress-up in her room, or whatever it was that Isabelle did in her spare time, after spending all evening interrogating Eve with questions about her past life and the Morgensterns. Questions that Eve either had vaguely replied to, or ones that Eve had avoided answering altogether.

At the time, Jace, even Maryse and _Robert_, had considered telling Isabelle to stop her possessive behavior, for Eve's sake – but Eve had actually seemed to _enjoy_ Isabelle's demands and examinations, rather than feel apprehensive about them.

The two girls had connected instantly. And so far, Jace had not seen a trace of either of them since dinner.

Eve and Isabelle's new friendship wasn't an open sort of familiarity, Jace noted. Theirs was not the giggling, talkative friendship that most girls shared, but it was something silent – a wordless sort of bond that transcended all those superficial kinds of ties. Eve didn't mind being ordered around a little – if anything it appeared to _relax_ her, somehow – so they had allowed Isabelle to continue on with her questioning.

At first, Jace had thought that it was because Isabelle was a _girl_ that Eve seemed so fond of her: After all, Eve had been surrounded by men her entire life – it must have been a relief to finally have a girl around her… But Jace wasn't sure that was it. As the evening had progressed, he had begun to see their relationship in more detail – and he had a feeling that Isabelle was like a security blanket for Eve. If he understood the situation properly, Eve had never learned to make any of her own decisions before – Valentine and Jonathan had probably made all her choices for her – so after they had both died, there had been no one left to tell Eve what to do.

But Eve was a natural follower, and Jace guessed that her docile nature was probably why it was comforting for her to be around Isabelle.

After all, if anybody in the Institute had a commanding presence, it was _definitely_ her.

As slowly as he dared to, Jace rolled out of his plain, white-sheeted bed and strode to the rapping sound at his door, not knowing who to expect. Part of him was hoping that it was _Eve_ hovering just outside his door, with that lovely, gentle smile she sometimes wore – but it was not meant to be.

Instead of pretty lips and a cascade of blonde curls, Jace was met with piercing blue eyes and a moody scowl as he pulled open his bedroom door.

He saw it was Alec, glaring at him like he was some sort of traitor.

Jace ran his fingers through his hair with a disappointed sigh.

Unlike Isabelle, his parabatai still trusted Eve about as much as a Shax demon – and he had avoided her like one, too… Alec hadn't even showed up at meals today, to make sure that he would not even have to look at her. But that had not been useful to either of them. Eve had seemed to notice Alec's malicious absence; she hadn't really eaten anything, almost sadly, and she had left the meals as quickly as she was able… It had taken an immense amount of effort, on Jace's part, to not be annoyed with Alec for being so difficult. And for hurting Eve more than she had already been hurt.

Although Jace completely understood that Alec was devastated about losing Max – _everyone_ in the Institute was devastated about losing Max, how _could_ he forget? – Alec just didn't seem to realize that _Eve_ had not had _anything_ to do with their younger brother's death. The only reason that Alec _could_ blame her was because she had _lived_ with the Morgensterns around the same time, but that did not mean Eve had sided with what had happened to Max or had even _known_ about it…

Just because Eve had lived with Valentine did not make her a monster: that was what Jace hoped Alec would come to recognize. In truth, the fact that Valentine _hadn't_ managed to corrupt Eve maybe proved that she was a bit more human than the rest of them… It showed how truly kind and innocent and strong she really was – how central it must be to her very being…

But the icy look in Alec's expression told Jace it would take a _while_ for that realization to set in… perhaps longer than Jace anticipated.

Quickly, Alec peeked over Jace's shoulder, flicking his black hair away from his forehead irritably. "Is that girl here?" he demanded stiffly, with a clenching set of his jaw. Disapproval dripped from his words like acid.

'_That_ _girl'_, Jace thought with a twinge of anger, fighting the urge to kick his friend in the ankle.

So Alec wasn't going to even say Eve's _name_ now? Was she a _virus_?

"The only gorgeous blonde in here is _me_," Jace replied smoothly, not letting his frustration show on his face. He stepped to the side so Alec could see the empty room, and then crossed his arms, as if in impatience. "Any reason why you are wondering?"

"A letter just came for you." Rather harshly, Alec shouldered into Jace's room, shoving a paper into Jace's grip as he passed. "It's from the Inquisitor. It says it's confidential – Has the official wax seal and everything…"

Jace glanced at the letter in his hand, and frowned.

"But the seal is broken," he stated.

"That's because I already opened it and read the letter," replied Alec.

Jace was losing patience at an alarming rate.

"Apparently you need a lesson, Alexander, on what the word 'confidential' means…" Jace stated delicately, throwing his friend a glare. "Some synonyms are 'secret' and 'private' and 'none-of-your-damn-business.'"

"Which is exactly why I wanted to read the letter before _you_," Alec answered, ignoring Jace's jab. "If it is a private letter and it is coming from the Inquisitor, it was bound to be about that girl he brought here – and I couldn't trust you being the only one to know any more information about her."

Jace was momentarily surprised. "What do you mean you _don't_ _trust_ me?"

"You think I can't see what is happening here? Do you think I am blind, Jace?" Alec growled. "I can see that you care about this girl – a lot. Maybe you even _love_ her… And whether that is because you both have Angel's blood or because you had a similar upbringing or because you both knew Valentine, I don't know. But what I _do_ know is that you are fond of her and trust her – way too much for a complete stranger you just met yesterday… She makes you lose your head… And maybe _you_ can forget what happened six months ago, Jace, but I can't. My little brother is _dead_ – _our little_ _brother_ is dead – and it is because of _her_ fiancée that I will never see him again."

Jace winced at the thought, but he remained true to his argument. "Eve may have been at the wrong place at the wrong time, but she didn't –"

"Oh, I _know_ she didn't _directly_ hurt Max," Alec snapped, "everyone keeps trying to drill that fact into my head – but she was living with the Morgensterns when Max _was_ hurt, Jace… So if she is as morally good as you say she is, then she would have tried to stop Valentine and Jonathan before they got out of control – she could have killed them _before_ Max ever got involved."

"And how do you know she _didn't_ try, Alec? How do you know she didn't try to stop Valentine and Jonathan?"

"Because Eve would _never_ oppose them and she says as much. You heard her answer Izzy's questions. She says that Jonathan and Valentine _loved_ her, as much as they were ever capable of loving anything… If they loved her and she loved them then she must have been _like_ them, to some degree…"

"Valentine raised Eve from the time she was a little girl…" Jace snapped in reply. "And while Jonathan Morgenstern may not have exactly been a paragon of virtue, Eve still fell in love with him and he was still her fiancée… Are you honestly saying that she should have killed the only two people she ever knew or loved in this world? Do you even think that a person could be _capable_ of destroying everything they ever loved – even for the good of everything else?"

"How could _you_ even say that?" Alec cried, spinning around to face him. His _parabatai's_ eyes were very wide and very blue. "Jace, listen to yourself! You are defending the people who killed Max!"

"No. I'm not."

"Yes, you are! And you are defending the spineless girl that stood aside and let our brother get murdered!" Quickly, Alec spun on his heels and stormed past Jace. "I don't care what you, or Izzy, or my parents, or the Inquisitor, or even what the _Council_ thinks of her. She's as guilty as the rest of them – and I want her out of here _before_ another one of my family members gets killed."

"Alec –"

But it was too late.

His parabatai had fumed out of the room as moodily as he had come in, slamming the door behind him. Jace doubted that Alec had even heard him speak.

Scowling, Jace stared at that closed door a moment or two longer, and then slowly turned his attention to the letter in his hand.

Alec had been right; the broken wax seal on this letter was certainly from the Inquisitor. The letter was capped with the official new crest of the Council – and the scrawling, untidy writing on the outside of the parchment seemed to suit Argyle Silverspear perfectly.

Jace flipped open the letter with an impatient flick of his thumb, scanning the message swiftly.

In elegant language, Argyle first greeted him and thanked him for his support of Eve for the last few days – and then secondly, he pleaded with Jace to continue that care. The Inquisitor expressed concerns for Eve's safety, especially in the next coming days, when Downworld began to circulate Eve's story and her affiliation with the Morgensterns. And although Argyle said he trusted most Downworlders to be civil, he also admitted that he could not guarantee there would be no rash individuals amongst them who tried to gain revenge against Valentine through hurting Eve. He asked Jace to make sure that their guest was supervised as much as possible, and to be especially careful with her when she went outside the walls of the Institute – and with that, the letter was finished.

Jace was beginning to wonder why this letter had been made confidential – with it containing such harmless information – until Jace realized that Argyle probably did not want _Eve_ to see this letter, more than anyone else. Which made sense, he supposed. The Inquisitor probably did not want to worry Eve with potential threats, particularly when the chance of the threat was relatively low. And he probably also did not want Eve to feel like she was burdening them with her safety.

Not that this request was a problem for Jace.

Alec would not be any help, but between Isabelle and himself, Jace was certain that Eve would always have someone standing guard at her side. This favor was simple enough to execute, and if it made Eve safer, then he felt it was his duty to accede to the Inquisitor's demands.

Slowly, Jace dropped the letter to the table beside his bed and sank back into his mattress, wishing that sleep would come and take him over.

* * *

Wincing, Argyle drew up into a sitting position.

He took care as he moved, trying not to twist his body too sharply or too soon…

Even though the _iratze_ rune had finished its work, the injury itself was still sore – and an impressive-looking scar now laced Argyle's pale side because of the wound. Of course, Argyle noted, he _shouldn't_ have gotten a scar from an injury as simple as his had been – the blow had been barely more than a flesh wound – but an _inexperienced_ Nephilim had drawn the rune, _not_ him. And as a result, the rune had been sloppy, not very effective, and the Inquisitor's pale skin now held a permanent memory of his wound.

The thought was not as much of an annoyance to Argyle as it might have been to other people.

Scars were an honor, to a Shadowhunter. They showed valor and courage in battle. And as for the Nephilim's lack of expertise, Argyle could not complain; he had been a rookie medic at one point, too. He knew what it was like to have to learn that complicated, new skill. No one was completely proficient in the first few years of training…

And in the end, having a scar did not matter.

It was not as if anyone was going to ever see him shirtless, anyway, he thought with a frown.

Sighing deeply, the Inquisitor leant against the arm of his couch, holding up an object in the wavering, warm light of his fireplace.

He had been staring at that diamond necklace for the last hour or so, mesmerized by its beauty and its mystery. After the guards had left, this was the only thing that had been there to preoccupy his time, and his mind had traced it in endless mental circles, trying to decipher what that stranger had meant to show him through this piece of jewelry.

Argyle had memorized every detail of the narrow, glittering string – from the luxurious cut of the expensive stones, to the way that the diamonds had been shaped to look like tiny stars at the clasp, to the short message engraved in the platinum backing:

_Noli me tangere_, the graceful lettering wrote, _for Caesar's I am, and wild to hold, though I seem tame. – from V._

It had not taken long for Argyle to interpret who 'V' was.

Judging from the star-motif and the lavishly expensive nature of the necklace, it was obvious that this band was a Morgenstern piece – so the 'V' clearly stood for the name 'Valentine'…

What had been _more_ difficult to find out, however, was _why_ Valentine had sent it – and for _whom_… Having a message like that in jewelry was not uncommon, Argyle supposed, but it was not something one saw everyday… Usually, engraved messages like that were saved for specialty _engagement_ jewelry…

Inquisitor Silverspear had not gained any ideas from _that_ train of thought, so, after a little research, Argyle had decided to find out a bit more about the _message_ on the necklace.

The lines written into it were actually from an old, 16th century sonnet by Thomas Wyatt, called "Whoso List to Hunt."

But that poem only filled Argyle with more _confusion_, rather than gave him a concrete answer.

The sonnet was a story of pursuit – a tale of a man falling helplessly in love with a beautiful, captivating, but completely unattainable woman… The woman, the object of the speaker's desire, belonged to another man – called Caesar, in the text… And the woman's commitment to Caesar was shown by a string of diamonds she wore around her neck, engraved with the same message that _this_ necklace bore: '_Noli me tangere_, for Caesar's I am, And wild to hold, though I seem tame.'

It still did not make any sense, to the Inquisitor.

He had concentrated; he had searched through his own personal memories, as well as Eve's, trying to find a glimpse of this necklace – but he had not recovered anything.

This piece of jewelry was an answer, he knew. But it was an answer to a question Argyle could not uncover – making this enigma all the more frustrating.

To narrow down options, Argyle finally deduced that this necklet most likely did _not_ belong to Eve… After all, even if Eve _had_ kept any memories of it from him, this message was too romantic to be meant for _her_…

No.

This necklace was for another – and if this was part of a set of engagement jewelry, like Argyle suspected, then there was only one woman that this piece could belong to:

Jocelyn Graymark, Valentine's ex-wife.

Argyle twisted the necklace in his long, pale fingers, thoughtfully. The diamonds glittered like a collection of teardrops in the firelight.

But why would the intruder want to remind him of Jocelyn Graymark?, the Inquisitor wondered. What relevance did _she_ have to him? And how had the boy gotten the necklace in the first place?

Argyle did not know.

But the Inquisitor decided that as soon as he could get out of this place tomorrow, he would pay Jocelyn a visit and ask her about it.

The faster he solved this puzzle, the safer Eve would be.

Even though he had sent a letter to Jace Herondale, telling him to watch over her, he knew that ruse would only help for so long. Especially against the strength of someone like that mystery intruder had been.

Slowly, Argyle Silverspear lowered the necklace to his lips and closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the metal glow against his skin.

* * *

**How did you like this chapter, readers?**

**I really enjoyed all the Argyle Silverspear, in this chapter... I like that he is less of a pushover here, and that you can see more of his past... And also I loved Jace and Alec's fight... If I was Alec, I would probably feel the same way, though, so I cannot blame him for being so angry and suspicious of Eve... Even though I do love Eve so much... Oh, I'm torn!**

**P.S. Can anyone guess who the necklace belong to? Anyone? Any 'Morgenstern Girl' readers? :)**

**Until next time!**

**Love, Fishie.**


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